Warrior
by HermioneIncarnate
Summary: Stephanie comes face to face with her morality after she kills an FTA during a takedown. How will the experience change her? Dark fic, Babe HEA. Rating for adult language, adult content, violence, smut.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer:** Anything recognizable belongs to Janet Evanovich, and the rest is mine. I'm grateful she lets us play.

**Warning:** Dark fic. Adult language, adult content, violence, smut. This is written for mature audiences only.

**A/N:** I reference the books _On Killing_ and _On _Combat by Lt. Col. Dave Grossman; the article _Psychological Effects of Combat_ in the _Encyclopedia of Violence, Peace, and Conflict, _Academic Press, 2000; and the website _Joyful Heart Foundation_ throughout this story.

This story is, in many ways, the opposite tone of _To be Proud_, but I am no less excited to share it with you. This story is dark in several places, but I have used the darkness deliberately with the explicit goal of sharing a new perspective on Steph's experiences from canon and framing it within experiences of my research and imagination. I am not taking you down this road without a light at the end of the tunnel; an HEA is promised.

I'm grateful to misty23y for being my Beta on this project. We worked hard on not only editing this story but also to make sure I am giving you a different experience than _Drive. _Thank you for reading, and I look forward to reading your comments. Each one means the world to me.

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_**Warrior**_

**Chapter 1**

**Stephanie's POV**

_BANG! _The gun fires and I quickly scramble back, dropping the smoking metal beside me. Farro's eyes widen in shock as he crumples to the floor. The six foot one, two hundred and fifteen pounds of unkempt, pushing fifty Caucasian male is reduced to nothing by a one-inch piece of metal. Blood pools underneath him and spreads across his dirty wife beater. "You shot me," he says in disbelief, placing his right hand over his heart and pulling his fingers back again. He stares at his digits, stained red, before shifting his condemning gaze to me.

"You killed me, bitch, all because you wouldn't spread your legs like a good girl. Do you see that picture on the fridge? That's my wife, Stella, and my daughter, Amber. Are you going to tell them you're the reason I'm dead? That you stood there and did nothing as you watched me die?" he coughs and spits up blood. "Or are you going to slither away knowing you're a killer who destroyed a family?" he says, lacing as much venom as he can in his fading words.

Farro's blood splattered across my body, and I feel each drop seeping into my soul like a poison. I stand, frozen, as I watch his chest slowly rise and fall. The part of me that's still good considers attempting first aid, but the greater, selfish part of me knows that if he is pretending to be in worse condition than he is and I compromise my safer ground, he may kill me. I take rapid, shallow breaths, and my vision tunnels to his form.

"You're. A. Murderer," Farro spits out between gasps and coughs. "Live with that," he whispers, and I watch as his eyes lock onto the afterlife.

All tension leaves his muscles, and as his body sags into the carpet, I realize with an odd sense of detachment that his chest is no longer moving. I stand and, while my heart refuses to slow its thunderous beating, I feel a sense of nothingness settle over me.

I slowly pull my phone out of my back pocket and dial Morelli's number.

"Hello," a woman answers between giggles.

"Terry, I told you not to do that. You're going to get me in trouble," I hear Morelli say in the background before groaning. I keep the phone held to my ear in perverse curiosity.

I hear a soft _plop_ as I assume Terry dropped the phone on a pillow followed by loud slurping sounds. It takes a second for the noise to register, and when it does, I pull the phone back to stare at the screen in detached realization. Terry Gillman is giving my boyfriend a blow job on speaker. I end the call and dial Eddie Costanza.

"Hey Steph, what's up?" he answers, upbeat as always.

"I have a dead FTA," I reply before giving him the address.

"Shit, Steph," Eddie says seriously. "Are you okay?"

"Fine," I reply. "I'll be waiting. I'm unarmed." I hang up without waiting for a reply.

I remain in place as I stare unblinkingly at Farro's corpse. There's a ringing in my ears, and I realize I need the bathroom immediately. I dash through the halls and launch myself at a toilet to relieve myself as my body threatens rebellion. I stand, flush, and stare at myself in the toothpaste splattered medicine cabinet mirror. The blood covers my skin and shirt like a terminal rash. I should be upset, I think. I should be crying. I should be, something.

My phone rings and I answer it reflexively.

"Cupcake, what's this I hear about a dead FTA?" Morelli yells.

"Good multi-tasking," I reply calmly.

"What are you talking about, Cupcake? Did you kill someone?" Morelli retorts indignantly.

"Terry's head can't be that good if you are working at the same time," I continue in the same tone. Morelli is silent.

"Keep her. Don't call me again," I finish dismissively, disconnecting. Morelli immediately tries to call back, and I block the number.

I wander listlessly into the kitchen, and the photo on the fridge draws me like a magnet. The daughter is the spitting image of her fair-skinned, dark-haired, red-lipped mother. It's a sunny day, and they are both smiling at something beyond the camera.

I turn slowly when the door bursts open. I blink several times before recognizing the large imposing man sweeping the room with his gun drawn as Tank. Lester is behind him, and he quickly comes up beside me.

"Beautiful, are you okay? What happened?" he asks, looking me over. I keep my eyes on Tank as he checks for a pulse on the FTA. Tank locks eyes with Lester with a slight shake of his head and stands again. Tank says something in his headset, but I only see his lips move. The ringing in my ears is growing louder, and I decide it must be from the proximity of the gunshot.

Lester places his hand on my shoulder, and I take an instinctive step back, narrowing my eyes. "Beautiful," he says. "Stephanie." His voice is authoritative, and it captures my attention. I shake my head once as though to clear the cobwebs, grateful the ringing decreases slightly.

"I'm fine. We fought, and the gun accidentally fired," I say directly.

Lester looks as though he is about to ask another question when Eddie walks through the door. "Stephanie, holy shit! What happened?" he exclaims, looking between Farro's body, me, Tank, and Lester.

"This is Eric Farro. He's FTA, and I have the papers to bring him in. He answered the door but refused to come with me to the station. I tasered him, and I was in the process of handcuffing him when he physically assaulted me. He attempted sexual assault, and when I fought him off, he grabbed that handgun from that table," I state in a straightforward tone, pointing around the room. "I believe Farro was about to shoot me when he dropped the gun due to after-effects of the taser. We fought for the gun, and the weapon fired while we were doing so. He bled out quickly. I called you."

"Fuck," Lester swears under his breath, and Eddie looks at me compassionately.

"Okay, Steph. I am going to escort you away from the crime scene. There's a bus downstairs to medically evaluate you. Once the paramedics clear you, I'll need you to give your statement again," Eddie says, shifting to full cop mode.

I nod once and follow him with Tank and Lester behind me. Farro lived on the third floor of an apartment building a block off of State Street that makes my place look like the Ritz. We are on the second-floor stair landing when Morelli catches up to us.

"Holy hell, Stephanie. You have some nerve hanging up on me and refusing to answer my calls after you kill someone. There are not enough antacids in all of Trenton for me to deal with this today! Why do you keep getting yourself into these situations? You need to leave this stuff for the professionals," he begins ranting, blocking my path down the stairs.

My already elevated heart rate rises even higher, and I've had enough. "Move. Out. Of. My. Way," I say through clenched teeth.

"No! You owe me some answers, Cupcake," Morelli shoots back, moving closer to me.

"I owe you nothing. We are done. Move," I say, vibrating with a need to get out of this situation.

Morelli is about to open his mouth again, and something primal in me reacts first. I slam my famed knee into Morelli's coveted boys, and as he doubles over in pain, I push him with my full strength to the side. I step over his curled and groaning form and catch up with Eddie on the first-floor landing.

"Damn, Beautiful," Lester mumbles from behind me. He attempts to put his hand on my shoulder, but I deflect and take a quick step forward. I want to get as far away from this nightmare as I can, and the only way I'll be able to do that is to follow protocol. I also have no desire to spend the night in jail.

Bobby is standing next to the ambulance and begins to walk towards me as I make my way there with my entourage. I can tell Bobby's about to put his arm around me to guide me to the gurney, but I shoot enough back off daggers out of my eyes that he drops his hand and falls in step beside me.

As we close the short distance to the ambulance, Eddie and Big Dog separate from us to speak off to the side. "Bomber, will you sit on the stretcher inside? It will be a little more private," Bobby suggests, and I have to focus on his words and think about them a moment before I comply. "Right here. Good," Bobby says as I follow the simple instructions. "I'll be right back. I'm going to get a quick status update from Tank and Lester. Would you like the paramedics to begin looking you over, or would you rather wait for me?" Bobby asks.

"Wait," I state. The break will give me a second to try to refocus.

I watch as the Core Team, minus Ranger, engage in a brief but intense discussion. Ranger left two months ago for a mission that could be up to a year, his longest yet. He stopped by my apartment on his way out of town and told me that he was sure that with him going away for so long that I'd finally be happy with Morelli and wished me the best. I thought he was going to leave without so much as a kiss, but as I followed him to the door, he turned and permanently burned the imprint of his lips on mine.

Ranger's sudden departure left me in a quandary. I was going to end things with Morelli the next day, but Ranger's words took root in my head. Why shouldn't I see if Morelli and I could improve our relationship without the ever-present competition and tension that existed between Morelli, Ranger, and myself? For the first couple of weeks, things were great, and I thought I made the right decision. Our relationship felt lighter and more comfortable. That is until it didn't. It wasn't long before Morelli started having longer "working hours" and would suddenly be called away "for a case." In hindsight, the opposite of what I expected happened, and Ranger's departure made Morelli complacent in the management of his sidepiece.

Bobby re-enters the ambulance and crouches in front of me with Eddie and someone from forensics standing at the door. "Okay, Bomber. We're going to check your vitals. Unless you help us identify something that needs immediate medical attention, forensics is going to do gunpowder residue testing and take samples and photographic evidence. Once they are complete, we'll clean you up," Bobby orders, and I nod my head once indicating my compliance.

It's not my first time being tested and swabbed, and I sit through it stoically. I tense every time someone touches me, but I internalize the instinct to fight and wordlessly follow instructions. When the forensics tech reaches for my hand to swab it, I hiss in unexpected pain. I look down and see the hand is swollen with bruising around the index finger and wrist. I had forgotten it hurt.

Bobby, who was hovering nearby, is immediately beside me. "That looks broken. Do you remember what happened?" he asks.

I stare at it a second as flashes of memory fill my vision. "We fought for the gun. I reached it first, but Farro got his hand over mine. We wrestled for control," I state robotically.

I see rather than hear the forensics tech make a comment to Bobby and reach forward to take the tests. Expecting pain this time, I don't flinch as they complete the documentation of my injury.

"Are there any more injuries or physical evidence you know of that we should see?" the tech asks.

I glance over to verify the ambulance doors are closed before reaching across with my body to begin slowly pulling up the side of my shirt.

"I will need your clothes bagged for evidence, ma'am. Here or at the hospital, it doesn't matter to me," the tech chimes in, trying to be helpful. "Probably easier to do it here. I can turn while you put a hospital robe on."

I look between him and Bobby with rising anxiety. "It's okay, Steph. I can help, and with a blanket, we can keep you comfortable. Does that sound okay?" he calmly suggests.

"Fine," I say tensely, wanting nothing more than to get this over with as quickly as possible, and if stripping here meant less time at a hospital, then that's the lesser of two evils.

Bobby pulls down a couple of hospital gowns and a blanket from a compartment and drapes my top before cutting off my shirt and bra. I slide forward on the bed and tentatively place my feet on the floor, thankful the gown is reasonably long. I awkwardly pull down my jeans, thankful no one seems interested in taking my underpants as well, and Bobby helps me remove my sneakers and step out of them. Silently, I sit on the edge of the stretcher and pull the sides of the fabric apart to show the bruising on the sides of my breast and legs from Farro's attack. I hear Bobby sigh before he attempts to encourage me.

"You're doing good, Steph," Bobby says. "This will help collaborate your story faster so that you don't end up with charges against you." I barely register his words as I begin to shake.

The tech looks at his checklist, camera, and evidence bags again. "I've got everything I need. I'll give a verbal report to whoever is running the scene and take the rest back to the station," he said, before hopping out of the ambulance.

A paramedic quickly replaces the technician, and he and Bobby begin working me over. Bobby does another round of vitals, and after recording my blood pressure and pulse pulls another blanket down and wraps it around me. "Steph, I need you to try to calm down for me. Your pulse is around 175, and your BP is elevated," he says, crouching down to look at on eye level. "You're safe. I'm here, and Tank and Lester are right outside. Try to focus on your breathing with long, slow breaths in your nose and out of your mouth," he instructs. "Otherwise, you need to get that wrist x-rayed and evaluated by an orthopedic specialist, you need a couple of stitches on your temple, and I'd like to get a CT scan to rule out a concussion based on your medical history. I'm going to step out and make sure PD doesn't need anything else before transport," he finishes, and I continue staring at the door.

A few minutes later Bobby returns with Eddie. "Hey Steph, we've completed our initial walkthrough of the crime scene, and so far, everything corroborates your initial statement. It looks like a case of self-defense. I need to take your statement one more time, but the Chief says that unless something new comes up, we aren't going to arrest you for anything. Do you want to do that here and be done with it or wait until later?" Eddie says kindly.

"How long will it take?" I ask. I'm not hurting badly yet, but I'm sure the pain is coming.

"Under ten minutes? Based on what you said initially and what we've gathered in terms of evidence, this should be simple. I can call you back into the station if any follow up is needed," Eddie replies.

"Fine," I state and quickly repeat my previous statement.

Eddie asks a couple of clarifying questions and finishes as quickly as promised. "Thanks, Steph. I'll be in touch. Give me two minutes to report back to the Chief, and you should be free to go. I hope you heal quickly," he says before departing.

Tank enters in Eddie's wake, filling the small space. He looks at me a long second. "Are you okay?" he asks.

"Fine," I reply.

"Why didn't you call us, Little Girl?" he says quietly.

I'm immediately back in the apartment. "Don't call me Little Girl," I hiss, drawing my body into itself. Tank rocks backward.

"Steph?" he questions, looking confused.

"I thought I had it, or I wouldn't have gone in. If I called you for every FTA, I'd never make enough money to eat and pay rent after everyone got their cut. I realize I'm not as badass as you, but I didn't plan on fucking up your afternoon. At least I'm not the one who's dead," I exclaim with greater force than I expected.

Tank looks hurt for a split second before the blank face slams down. Suddenly Bobby leaps up and clears an alarm on the monitor. "Stephanie, I need you to calm down," he says in a voice so kind it only ramps me up father.

"I'm doing the best I can!" I shout, and my vision narrows. "I just want to get the fuck out of here!" I stand, suddenly feeling incredibly claustrophobic in the small space. I keep my eyes on the door, and it's the only thing I see. As I try to reach it, my subconscious registers a wall in my way. The only sound I hear is the ringing in my ears as I push, claw, climb, and do everything I can to get to the exit. My fingertips clutch the door handle before my world goes black.


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer:** Anything recognizable belongs to Janet Evanovich, and the rest is mine. I'm grateful she lets us play.

**Warning:** Dark fic. Adult language, adult content, violence, smut. This is written for mature audiences only.

**A/N:** Thank you for your amazing response to this story! This story had the highest first chapter readership, reviews, and follows of any of my posted works. I'm so excited by everyone's feedback, I couldn't wait to post Chapter 2 as a bonus!

Misty23y is an amazing beta on the project. I have loved bouncing ideas back and forth with her as I debate my infamous Option 1 or Option 2 for various storylines. She has several incredible stories in progress right now, including _The Night That Changed Everything._ I know some of what's coming, and I'm still captivated by every chapter.

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**Chapter 2**

**Stephanie's POV**

I slowly blink and infinitesimally raise my head to look around the dimmed room. I determine that I'm laying on a bed in Bobby's exam room at Rangeman. Bobby left the door connecting this room to his office partially open, and light streams in around the frame. I lift my hands and see my right one is in a purple camouflaged cast. Using my left hand, I pat my head and feel a small bandage over my right temple. My mouth is dry, and I desperately need to use the restroom.

I relax my head back against the pillow again. Farro. He's dead, and I killed him. I wonder how long I've been out. I slowly sit up and turn my body so that my legs are dangling over the side. I pause to let my body revive after being still for so long, noting that while I'm slightly dizzy, there's no pain. I take a deep breath and focus on a spot on the ground. Sitting there, I hear voices drift in from the next room.

"How's she doing, Bobby?" Tank says.

"Resting. I was about to check on Bomber again. She should be waking up soon. The sedative knocked her out, but then her parasympathetic nervous system backlashed and she crashed out on top of it. She's been asleep for about fourteen hours. Otherwise, she'll be fine. CT showed no brain swelling; the wrist is a simple fracture that will heal in about three weeks. Steph's lucky," Bobby said with a heavy sigh. "It could have been a lot worse."

"She said Farro attempted to assault her sexually. Is Beautiful okay?" Lester asks, and I push the memory away.

"Bomber didn't say much more than that to me either. Steph has plenty of bruising, but there's no indication of penetration," Bobby says heavily. It's something of an out of body experience to hear the guys talking about yesterday, and it's hard to relate the words to my experience.

"Damn it," Lester says in muted exclamation. "How can we keep Beautiful alive if she won't let us help her? Ranger is going to take us to the mats, hard when he finds out about this. I love that girl, but this shit's gone on long enough. I'm tired of constantly worrying that we won't be there in time the next time. It could have just as easily been Steph's body in the morgue as Farro's, and then we'd be busy trying to keep Ranger alive." I can hear the frustration and anger, and it's a tone I've never heard from Lester before.

"Keep your voice down," Tank says. "You're right, but Steph's impossible to talk to; she's stubborn and refuses to change. Without meaningful change, I've accepted that she's likely going to die, and I've worked up several contingency plans to deal with Ranger in that eventuality. I love her, too, but my first loyalty is to Ranger." His words settle like a dead weight in my stomach.

Over the past couple of years, I thought that of all of Ranger's friends and employees, Tank, Lester, and Bobby had also become my friends. It never occurred to me that the base of our friendship formed under threat of punishment from Ranger, and the betrayal stings. I do think they are wrong about the apparent threat my almost certain demise is to Ranger's life considering how easily he pushes me away, but I can understand how they would reach that point of exaggeration. Ranger's ridiculously overprotective of me, always has been, and I had no idea how much that extended to his interactions with friends and employees. I can't do anything about Ranger, but I can do something about me; I am not Rangeman's responsibility.

I take care to stand and amble to the adjacent restroom silently. After using the facilities, I stare at my reflection and determine I look like hell. I need to go home.

When I step out of the bathroom, Bobby is waiting on the other side. "Hey there, Bomber. How are you feeling?" he says in a tone that I now interpret as false.

"Fine. Thank you for helping me," I reply, my face giving nothing away. I spot my phone, stun gun, and pepper spray on the small table next to the bed. "Is my car and purse in the garage downstairs?"

"Yes, but it's only 5 am. You're welcome to stay and rest," Bobby says. "Seven is available for your use as well."

"I'm going to head home," I reply. "Thanks for the sweats. I'll bring them back."

"Don't worry about it, Bomber," Bobby says with a frown. "Are you sure you're okay to drive? At least let someone take you."

"I'm fine," I state, picking up my property before walking evenly out of the room, taking the door that leads directly to the main hallway to avoid walking past Tank and Lester. It doesn't work, and they catch up to me at the elevator.

"Beautiful, where are you going?" Lester says, putting his arm around my shoulder. I brush it off and take a step back with the same impassive expression.

"Home," I reply, silently willing the elevator to arrive faster.

"Let me drive you," Lester suggests.

"No," I state, and Tank looks annoyed.

"Here is your discharge paperwork and pain pills, should you need them," Bobby says with a searching look, handing me a paper bag as the elevator opens. I silently take it, step into the elevator, and descend to the main level alone.

My car is in its usual slot, and I drive out of the garage and home slowly, mindful of the limitations of my casted wrist. When I enter my apartment, I expect to feel relief, but I don't find any. Instead, I become immediately anxious, and my heart rate begins to climb. I close and lock the door quickly and take my S&W out of the cookie jar, load it, and sweep the rooms. Along the way, I check the locks on the windows and doors. I jam a chair under the knob of the front door and slide my dresser in front of the fire escape.

I stand in the living room, and I see my home as Ranger, Morelli, and everyone else must see it. I understand how easy it is to break into my apartment, and I feel a deep sense of vulnerability and insecurity. I know I will never sleep well here again.

I place my gun on the kitchen counter, freshen up Rex's water and give him a snack, and make a cup of coffee. As it brews, I pull a plastic bag out and cover my wrist, not knowing if it is a waterproof cast or not, and verify I have replacement bandages on hand for my temple. I step into the steaming stream and stand immobile there as the water begins to rinse away the stench of death from my hair and skin. I stare blankly at the shower wall as I recall Farro kissing my face, grabbing my breasts, punching me, crushing me, and dying in front of me. Because of me. I take my loofah and scrub my body as hard as I can one-handedly before washing my hair. I feel like I should be sad, angry, horrified, or even glad I lived, but I can't find anything except regret.

I dress in yoga pants and a baggy sweatshirt before finger combing my hair and brushing my teeth. I dig a pop-tart out of the cupboard and bring it over with my coffee to my couch. I set them down and walk into my bedroom to retrieve my laptop. I'm halfway through the apartment when I freeze as I vividly recall finding Lula's ravaged body by the fire escape. I slowly turn and see Ranger being shot by Scrog in my living room. I see the corpse of Soter on my couch. Ramirez falls, shot by me, and I watch the life drain from his body. Scrog screams as Julie shoots him because I failed to save a little girl from the burden when I acted impulsively and allow him to catch me. My apartment is firebombed, broken into, destroyed, and violated in a constant stream of memory.

I grab my gun and stand with it while attempting to control my breathing. I'm not going to stay here any longer. I will never sleep another night in this place. The most secure building in town is Rangeman, but I have no intention of asking for an apartment there. I will not be a burden, pity case, or liability any longer. I open my laptop and begin searching listings.

Typical apartment listing guides are all outside of my price range, so I turn to Craigslist. There's a listing for a basement efficiency apartment in neighboring Franklin Park that looks promising. It's cheaper than my current rent; the door is steel, the single window has bars over it, and, for fifty dollars more a month, I can have a single car garage space. The details say the apartment comes furnished. I call the landlord and set up an appointment in an hour.

When it's time to go, I place my gun in the small of my back before heading downstairs, but I can't make myself get into the car. What if there's a bomb? I lost count of how many times my cars have blown up. I go back upstairs and find a mirror and a roll of tape. I attach it to a yardstick and use it to look under the carriage of my vehicle. I don't see any explosives, but I do find the tracker. I reach under, pull it off, and place it under my neighbor's car. Then I empty my purse and carefully inspect every item, ultimately deciding only to keep my ID and bank cards. I repack everything I'm abandoning and leave it hanging off the corner of the dumpster. I am in New Jersey, and odds are, someone is bound to steal it. That should throw Rangeman for a loop and buy me some time. As an afterthought, I take off my shoes and do a careful once over, including pulling back the insoles, before putting them back onto my feet. I turn off my phone and remove the sim card. I will no longer let Rangeman intrude on my life.

I go through my bank's drive-through to withdraw the balance of my savings and checking account. Rangeman often operates in the gray, and I don't want my financial transactions to be used to track me. I arrive at the property early and inspect the grounds. It's non-descript, rundown, and utterly forgettable. There's a motion-activated floodlight that illuminates the main door to the apartment and the garage as well as street lights. I count one small window to the basement unit, and the bars are steel.

I watch as a middle-aged black man in a gold Toyota Camry pulls into the drive and steps out. "You the one interested in the apartment?" he asks, and I nod my head yes. He unlocks the door and flips on the light, and I follow. The apartment smells vaguely like stale French fries, and I begin my short tour.

The kitchen consists of a small refrigerator, microwave, and two-burner oven. It's separated from the rest of the house by a breakfast bar big enough for one. The living area doubles as the bedroom with a single closet opposite the bathroom door. Pale yellow tiles cover the bathroom walls with a small sink and medicine cabinet, toilet, and stand up shower stall. There's a futon in the living room with a side table, and gold-glassed lamp with stained shade beside it, a metal barstool near the kitchen counter, and a beat-up coffee table with glass ring stains pushed against the wall. The floors are wall to wall vinyl.

"I'll take it, along with the garage," I say, and the landlord nods.

"How you want to pay for it?" he says.

"Cash. I'll pay this month in full plus the security deposit. I'll rent month to month with a thirty-day vacancy notice, or I'll forfeit the deposit. Can I move in today?" I say evenly.

"Sure thing. I have the rental application in the car," he replies.

"I don't know your name, and you don't know mine. I'll pay you an extra fifty a month to keep it that way," I bargain, my blank face in place.

The man gives me an appraising look. "Deal," he decides. "Do you have the cash now?" I reach in my pocket and count out the money, and he hands me the keys before turning and departing wordlessly.

I leave and immediately return to my apartment. The fact is that I don't own very much since everything I own was destroyed numerous times in the past three years, and I'm taking less than that with me. It's slow work with the use of only one hand and a sore body, but I put the elevator to work as I pack my car. I take down my clothes, shoes, bedding, toiletries, and kitchenware, inspecting each item for any hidden trackers. I haven't framed any photos since the latest firebombing, so there are no personal touches for me to take down. I trek down to the basement and find Dillon in his office.

"Hey, Stephanie. I heard about the shooting. How are you doing?" Dillon asks.

"Fine," I reply. "I'm sorry to do this to you, but I'm giving up the apartment. I'm going to leave the large furniture behind. Feel free to sell it, use it to list the unit as furnished, or donate it. The deposit is yours. I'll pay next month's rent if you can't find anyone to take the apartment. Send me an e-mail if that's the case, and I'll stop by. Will you help me bring my TV down to my car?"

Dillon whistles between his teeth. "Are you sure about this Steph? We're going to miss you around here."

"Yes," I say, and he heads upstairs with me. Dillon picks up my TV, and I pick up Rex, pulling the door behind us closed without a second look. I place Rex on the passenger seat and pull the seatbelt around the cage as Dillon sets the TV on the floor of the backseat. My Honda CR-V is only half-filled. We awkwardly look at each other as I pull the key off of my ring and hand it to him. "I have no idea who else might have a key. Might want to change the lock. Thanks for everything," I say with little emotion, and I get into the car and pull out of the lot without waiting for a reply.

I drive out of town to a big box home improvement store. There I select new locks for the apartment and garage, a drill, steel plating, lock guard, a deadbolt, floor bolt, and chain. In the home security aisle, I find wireless cameras and door and window sensors. I fill my cart with a couple of cleaning items, surprisingly find a waterproof mattress pad for the futon, and check out. I head down the road to a strip mall for two burner phones, one with the ability to act as a wireless hotspot, grab a couple of groceries from a convenience market, and eat a drive-through hamburger on my way to my new home.

My paranoia builds as I drive closer to my new apartment. What if I missed a tracker? I stop at a gas station and do another sweep with my jerry-rigged mirror. I'm cautiously relieved when I don't find anything and continue on my way.

I'm tired when I pull up outside the door to my new home, but I don't let myself rest. I unload the car with single-minded determination and ignore the throbbing in my wrist and head. I'll sleep when I'm safe. When I park the car in the garage, I begin beefing up my security by exchanging the lock. The garage structure is cinderblock with a manually operated metal door, and it doesn't take me long to complete the task. I immediately repeat the process on the main entrance and lock it behind me. Next up is installing the bolts and locks. I get around the limitations of my casted wrist by taping things in place before securing them in place. After I'm satisfied with my door security, I take the metal plating and attach hinges to the top of it. I install it so that it opens upward over the single window before attaching sliding bolts to secure it to the wall. I want to prevent anyone from being able to spy, shoot, or throw anything through the window into my home, but nor do I want to block my only alternative exit permanently. It seems like the safest compromise.

I glance at my watch, surprised to see it's only two o'clock in the afternoon. It seems you can get a lot done if you start your day at five in the morning. I adjust the futon so that it's flat and make my bed. I set my gun down on the side table, close my eyes, and give into the exhaustion with a sense of secure anonymity.

I wake up several hours later. "How do you like your new digs, Rex?" I ask, leaning against the kitchen counter. He waddles out of his soup can, wiggles his nose in the air, and retreats. I decide to interpret the action as approval. I make a cup of instant ramen and get to work wiping down everything in the apartment with Clorox wipes. It may be small and out-of-date, but it can be clean. My kitchen items take up one cupboard, so I use the under-cabinets of the island to store my non-hanging clothes. It takes about two hours, but when I finish, I feel a deep sense of satisfaction with the control I have taken.

I sit down on the futon and lay out the electronic gadgets before me. The first thing I do is set up one burner phone as in-home wi-fi. It's slightly more expensive than contacting the utility company, but at least it's untraceable. I plan on setting up call forwarding from my cell phone to the second burner, but I'm going to drive far away from here before I turn it on again, even if only briefly. Next, I unpackage the wireless cameras and sensors beside me on the futon. I've never installed anything like this, and I begin reading the instruction manuals. I'm about to log into my laptop to begin set-up when a loud banging on the door interrupts me.

I immediately grab my gun and move into a defensive position behind the door. I glance in the peephole, and standing there is Hector. He turns and looks directly at me before knocking again. I consider ignoring him, but what if he decides to come back with Tank, Lester, or Bobby? All of my efforts will be for nothing. With a sinking heart, I realize they might already be for nothing.

I open the door but don't step out from behind it, locking it as soon as Hector enters into the small entry. He looks at me cautiously and keeps his hands visible. Hector backs into the main room of the apartment, and I follow him at as much distance as the confined space allows. "No one knows where I am, _Angelita_. I keep your secret," Hector says. I lower my gun to my side but keep it in hand.

"How did you find me?" I ask tersely.

"You missed one tracker, but I cut off the feed at Rangeman," Hector replies. "I assumed you had a good reason to dump the other ones."

"Where is it hidden?" I immediately interrogate, pissed off that despite my best efforts, Rangeman still has this level of intrusion on my life.

Hector walks over to Rex's cage and removes a small device from inside the pole that attaches Rex's wheel to the base and sets it on the counter.

"Fuck," I mumble under my breath before crushing it with the heel of my foot and flushing the remains down the toilet.

"Anything else?" I state, walking back into the room with narrowed eyes. Hector looks concerned but slightly amused.

"I will help you," Hector states with calm authority.

"Thanks for showing me the tracker, but I don't need help," I reply, feeling my anger and indignation rising.

"Not Rangeman help, my help," Hector replies, unfazed. "I will keep your secret, _Angelita_."

I pause and consider the offer, and Hector uses my silence as an opportunity to press his case.

"Rangeman will figure out that you moved and redistributed your trackers, by tomorrow at the latest. Tank will do everything he can to find you, and it will make your life difficult. I can cover for you," he says.

"Why would you do that?" I ask.

"I know what it is to have blood your hands and be alone," Hector confesses, pointing to the teardrop on his face.

I let the words hover between us, but I keep my blank face in place.

"In exchange, I have two requests. The first is that you keep this tracker with you," he says, placing a fob on the counter. "I'll exchange it for the Rangeman fob you currently have. This has a tracker, but the only one with this tracking data is me, and the data goes to my personal computer, not the Rangeman network. Here is a panic button," he continues, opening a hidden compartment on the side of the fob and revealing a button. Again, I am the only person who would receive the signal. You'll still have the same level of access to Haywood should you choose to go over there. It's not as safe for you as what was in place previously, but it's better than nothing."

What Hector is offering is reasonable, and it would make my life easier. "What's the second?" I ask warily.

"You don't try to hide from me, and you don't try to kill yourself. I'm worried about you, _Angelita_," Hector says quietly.

"Why are you worried about me? Afraid Ranger will take you to the mats, too? Or am I only useful as long as my existence protects his life?" I retort bitterly.

A flash of anger crosses Hector's face before it's replaced with compassion as he takes a step towards me. I take a step backward and brace myself. Hector freezes and seems to consider me more carefully. "After my sister died, I hardened my heart. You brought me back to life, _Angelita._ You are my angel. I am not afraid of Ranger. If made to choose between him and you, I would quit my job," Hector says emphatically.

I relax my posture, set the revolver down on the side table, and sink into the futon. I lean against the wall and pull my knees into my chest, considering Hector's words but knowing already that I will accept his deal. "Okay," I say. "But you will not let anyone from Rangeman track me or know where I live."

"Agreed," Hectors says with a hint of relief and points to the opposite end of the futon. I nod yes, and he sits on the edge of the mattress and picks up one of the cameras I have laid out and inspects it before doing the same with the window sensor. "Can I help you with this?" he asks, and I appreciate that he doesn't take over.

"Yes," I reply, knowing I am in over my head with the electronics. Hector turns the devices over in his hands a minute before standing.

"Give me your old key fob. I will dispose of it and return shortly. I need another tool, and we will do this together," Hector directs.

I walk over to the kitchen counter where I stowed the new handbag I put together for myself while unpacking, and take out the keyring. I slide the fob across the surface and attach the new one to it.

Hector points to a nail sticking out of the wall between the door and the kitchen. "Keep your keys here when you don't have them on you. It will make the fob easier to access, and you'll have them if you need to leave quickly," he says, and I comply.

"You know where I live. I think it's only fair I know where you live," I state as Hector makes his way to the door. He turns and gives me a quizzical look. "You have an apartment at Rangeman, but I know you don't stay there all the time." I follow up.

"Give me your phone," he directs, and I hand him the burner. "Where is your other phone?" he says, looking at the new one. I pull it and the sim card out of a kitchen drawer. "I'll fix this for you before I return," he says, taking it from me. He gives the burner back to me, and I unlock it before he enters his contact information. "Will you let me make a copy of your keys?" he says, approaching the door. "It will be faster than picking the locks if I need to get to you." I agree, and he slides the three keys off of the ring before leaving. I secure the door behind him, move the cameras and sensors to the small patch of counter next to Rex, and flop back onto the futon.

I used to think I had an excellent ability to read people, but the last twenty-four hours have shattered my confidence in that ability. I didn't expect Farro to come easily, but nor did I think he was capable of killing me. I thought Morelli and I were drifting apart, but I didn't think, or maybe I didn't want to think, that he was cheating on me. I suppose I did the same thing with Dickie. I thought Tank, Lester, and Bobby were my friends. Instead, I was nothing more than another order they had to follow – or else.

I've spent my life persistently seeing the good in people, even when there isn't any good to see. No longer. I'm willing to trust Hector, to a point, but I will still keep my guard up. I'll be critically evaluating every other person in my life. Too often I'm the source of gossip and ridicule. The public at large, and I mean the Burg, analyze everything I do, and everything is always my fault.

I wipe my healthy hand over my eyes. Everyone can't be wrong. One or two people, yes, but even the Core Team at Rangeman finds me bearing at least some responsibility for the deaths that occur in my wake.

Farro's words ring clearly. I'm a murderer. I killed him. I fought him over sex, and he died. And I have to live with that. No one thinks Trenton is better because I brought him down. They will mourn the loss of a husband and father, and I will be the one judged. I am the one who is morally bankrupt. Tears sting my eyes as the crushing weight of that burden settles on my chest.

I hear a rap on the door, and I'm immediately on my feet with my gun in hand. I cautiously look through the peephole, and Hector gives me a one fingered wave. I let him in, locking the door behind us, and place the gun near Rex. Hector is carrying a duffle bag and a pizza.

He opens the box, takes out a slice, and leans against the opposite counter. I take a seat at the barstool and join him. I appreciate that Hector doesn't force conversation. When Hector finishes eating, he washes his hands and begins pulling items out of the duffle bag.

"All voice messages and texts are now forwarded to your burner phone. I emailed you a list of your contact information. Don't turn it on," Hector instructs, placing the phone and sim card back into the drawer I pulled it out of before.

"This will give you secure wireless. Your set-up works, but this will be cheaper and more reliable. You can pay me, and I'll take care of the bill," he says, unplugging the burner phone and powering it down. I appreciate that he isn't giving me something for nothing. "Keep this on hand as a back-up, just in case," Hector continues, powering down the phone and placing it and the charger in the drawer.

I log into my laptop, and we finish setting up the wireless before installing the cameras and sensors. "The video feed is routed to and will be saved on my personal server. You can access it here," he says, type the file address into my browser. An image of my living room ceiling fills the screen. "It also works on your phone. If there is a tripped sensor, an alert will go to your desktop and phone as well as mine. If you trip it on accident, let me know, because I will come over otherwise to make sure you are okay."

We work together to install the sensors and cameras around my apartment and the garage. Hector stops at his car and points to a small safe on the backseat. "I know you emptied your bank account. You need a secure place to keep your cash and weapons. I brought you my old safe since I got a bigger one. I'll let you buy it from me for fifty bucks, and we can mount it in your apartment," he says.

"Okay," I agree, and he carries it inside. Hector places it on the floor of my closet and taps the wall. Once satisfied, he takes out a saw and cut a hole into the wall the profile of the safe and slides it into the void before securing it with straps to the studs. It isn't a glamorous solution, but it is effective.

Hector shows me how to set a new combination on the electronic keypad and steps aside as I do. I prop the door open and pull my cash out from four hiding spots in my apartment. I give Hector money for the safe and wi-fi before securing it inside. He places the drywall panel back over the front of the safe and sets my laundry hamper in the corner. I'm sure someone like Ranger would be able to find the safe, but it is hidden enough to deter the average intruder or someone in a hurry.

Hector gathers up his tools zips the duffle bag closed. "Remember our deal, _Angelita_," he says seriously.

"I will. Thanks," I reply equally, locking the door behind Hector. I walk into the kitchen, pull the bottle of tequila out from the cupboard over the stove, take three shots, and pass out in bed.

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**A/N:** What did you think? I've written through chapter 8, but your comments have improved and changed storylines before! Thank you again for reading.


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer:** Anything recognizable belongs to Janet Evanovich, and the rest is mine. I'm grateful she lets us play.

**Warning:** Dark fic. Adult language, adult content, violence, smut. This is written for mature audiences only.

**A/N:** In a dark story, this is the second darkest chapter. If you have any specific trigger concerns or would enjoy the story better with a summary, please private message me.

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**Chapter 3**

**Stephanie's POV**

_**Five Months Later **_

I wait in my car for Connie to finish opening the Bonds Office at 6:55 am before striding inside. I pick up Rangeman's stack of FTA's and add a couple to my pile before turning and walking out again. "Nice to see you as always, Stephanie," Connie calls behind me.

I had a lot of time to think while waiting for my wrist to heal. I couldn't go after any skips that were potentially non-compliant, and I used the spare time to lay low. For the first couple of weeks after I killed Farro, I got hundreds of voice and text messages with commentary about my break-up with Morelli. The Burg kept me up to date on the women he was seeing; along with Farro's funeral and wake. Then, all anyone wanted to know was if I was going to quit my job; and any other random gossip people shot over to see if it would get a reaction out of me. No one, except Mary Lou, called to ask how I was doing.

Consequently, Mary Lou is the only person I called back. I told her I was fine, but the more I listened to her kind and cheerful voice with the squeals of her kids in the background, the more detached I became. Mary Lou is good, and good things fill her life. I love her too much to corrupt that. I ended the call quickly, and I haven't reached out again.

My mother called incessantly, asking me when I was going to get back together with Morelli, if I quit my job, where did I move to, when am I coming to dinner, and on and on. I gave into a desire to find something normal in my upturned life and went to dinner a week after Farro. Morelli was sitting at the dining room table, and I turned around and left. My mom caught up to me at the car.

"Where do you think you're going, Stephanie?" she exclaimed.

I gave her an uncompromising stare. "I broke up with Morelli. End of story. You either respect that, or you don't. Right now, you don't. When you decide to honor my decision to be single, I might consider coming back to this house. Never ambush me with a man again," I stated severely and drove away.

My mom called two months later and, while she didn't apologize, she did promise not to invite anyone to dinner if I would come over. I told her I would, but if I discovered she was lying to me, I wouldn't return. I arrived precisely at five pm and walked around the house to enter through the backdoor. I slipped into the kitchen to avoid being ambushed by Saint Valerie and my Grandmother and to scout for any surprise guests. Finding none, I leaned against the wall nearest the kitchen door and waited with my arms crossed as my mother bustled into the room to pick up the bread basket.

She turned and jumped, the bread flying into the air. "Holy cow, Stephanie! You scared me!" she screeched, placing her hand over heart. She picked the bread up off of the ground and looked me over once. "What are you wearing?" she asked, attempting to hide her disdain.

"Clothes," I replied, my face nor tone showing any emotion.

My mother rolled her eyes. "Obviously, but you look like a thug or a gangbanger," she exclaimed, waving her arm in my general direction.

I wore a black leather jacket, black t-shirt, tight-fitting bootcut jeans, and steel-toed boots. The jacket is long enough to cover the gun in the small of my back, and the jeans flare enough to cover the piece strapped to my ankle. My knife fits comfortably in the back pocket of my jeans. My hair is short. I cut it for practical reasons while my hand was in a cast and decided it suited me. "I came from work. These clothes help me do my job better," I replied, my tone indicating the end of the conversation. My mom sniffed disapprovingly but held her tongue. I picked up the bread basket, carried it to the table, and took a seat where I could see the front door with easy access to the backdoor.

The family slowly found their usual seats for dinner, and my father led us in grace before serving himself a generous portion of pot roast. I took a much smaller serving. Not only do I eat a lot less than I used to, the faster I eat, the faster I can leave.

"Stephanie," my Grandmother said from the seat across from me. "I like your new look, especially the jacket. Very goth-chic. Is that a nose earring? It's nice. Do you think I'd look good with a nose ring? I could get one of those with a diamond. Diamonds are classy," she crooned. My mother did the sign of the cross, walked into the kitchen, and returned with a glass of whiskey over ice.

"How have you been, Stephanie? I haven't heard much about you lately," Valerie simpered, but I knew she's looking for gossip to pass on. "I heard Mor, er," she began, cutting off her words abruptly when my mother and I shot daggers in her direction.

"Have you heard from Ranger?" my mom tried again, and I looked at her impassively. "He's been gone a long time, and I know he's important to you." It couldn't tell if my Mom was fishing or genuinely cared.

"No," I stated and finished my meal quickly. The conversation continued around me, and I cleared my plate and slipped out the backdoor before dessert. I've gone weekly since. My mom must have decided it is better that I come over a little than not at all, and she has never questioned my quiet departures and has even taken to leaving a take-home bag of leftovers on the counter next to the backdoor. It's the only interactions with people from my life pre-Farro that I've retained.

I'm about to open the door to my CR-V when Lester jogs up and places his hand over the top edge. I stare at him with hostile annoyance. "Hey, Beautiful. How's it going?" he says, leaning against my car.

"Move," I demand.

"I'm here to pick up Rangeman's files," he presses, ignoring my request. "What cases do you have today?" he continues, reaching for my messenger bag.

"Last warning, Lester," I growl, moving my hand to my stun gun and out of patience for his invasive antics.

"Okay, Beautiful," Lester sigh, raising his hands and taking a step back. He's about to say more, but I quickly get into my car, lock the doors, and drive away. I don't trust Lester, and when I'm a mile away, I pull over and inspect my vehicle, person and messenger bag for trackers or bugs. I find one inside the wheel well, and I'm so angry I see red.

I storm inside the convenience station, quickly find what I need, and drive to Haywood. I place the vehicle in park at the curb in front of the building but keep the engine running. I take a small metal trash can out and put it in the center of the lawn and return with a bag of sand and dramatically pour it into the bottom. I do all of this while staring at the cameras, and it isn't long before I begin to attract attention. I slam the trunk closed and yank open the passenger door. I grab a cheap bottle of vodka and march back to the trash can. Tank is standing in front of the entrance with his arms crossed over his chest regarding me carefully.

I open the bottle and take a long pull of the clear liquid, enjoying the satisfying burn. Then I quickly grab the tracker out of my pocket, drop it in the bottle, and stuff a handkerchief into the neck.

"Do not track me!" I yell before lighting the handkerchief and throwing the Molotov cocktail into the trashcan. I sprint back to my car as the explosion singes the ends of my hair and peel away. I drive several miles before pull into a parking garage to review my files for the day.

There are four FTAs, two of my regulars and two I swiped from Rangeman. The first is one of Mooner's buddies, Trip Young. I call Mooner and ask him to arrange a get-together. The second is for Edith Hayes. She got busted for indecent exposure at the Policeman's Ball when she showed her tits "for America." Her day job is a teller at the bank, and I'll swing by when her shift ends. I turn my attention to the Rangeman files.

The first is for Oscar Sanchez. He's a well-known local drug dealer who pimps a few of the girls on Stark Street. This arrest was for bar brawling, but the bond is high due to his criminal record. I review his address of record as well as locations of previous arrests. Sanchez runs a pretty consistent beat within a two-block area, and I decide to check out a bar nearest his address this evening to see if I can find him.

The last file is for Jimmy Butler. He's a registered sex offender who got caught jerking off in front of a school. My lips curl in revulsion at his mugshot. He's balding with stringy white hair falling unevenly around his shoulders, a two-day stubble, and red, glassy eyes. He's wearing a stained t-shirt with a watermelon saying 'Trust me, you can eat my seed.'

I start the car and drive to Butler's listed address. It's a ten-minute drive, and I park across the street and kitty-corner from the house to passively conduct surveillance of the property. It's a two-story duplex with on-street parking. The plain brick front meets the sidewalk. There's a small alley on either side of the duplex that's paved over. It's too narrow for a car to fit through the alley. I step out of the CR-V, lock it behind me, and take a stroll around the house. There's a high fence that runs along the back with no visible opening. It's possible that Butler could try to escape from the rear, but he can't go far on either side, and I doubt he's fit enough to climb over the fence. I pull a motion-activated sensor with a loud alarm out of my pocket, place it on the floor near the corner of the door, and activate it. I jog back to the front and knock on the door.

There's slight movement at the window, and the blinds shake. I see a retreating figure through the broken slots. I step down the stairs and position myself between the front door and the alley as the alarm sounds. I run to the back with my gun in hand. "Bond enforcement. Freeze!" I yell commandingly to Butler's retreating figure. He swings his arm wide and fires a pot shot at me that goes wide. I immediately return fire with my 9mm and hit him in the right shoulder and pelvis. He screams and falls, dropping his gun.

"You bitch," he spits out venomously between groans of pain.

I kick his weapon away before rolling him over and securing his hands with cuffs. I take a step back and call in an ambulance. I don't bother to render first aid. If he dies, it's just one more ghost to join the others. He continues to shout obscenities at me until I threaten to cut his tongue out, twirling the knife between my fingers.

Eddie arrives first. "Hey, Steph. I was driving through the neighborhood when I heard the call on the radio. Why did you shoot the skip this time?" he says, jogging over with a first aid kit from his squad car to address Butler's wounds.

I shrug. "Butler fired at me first. I asked nicely," I say with a hint of sarcasm. Eddie sighs.

"I'm worried about you, Steph. You've got a new nickname at the station. The guys are calling you Rambette for your guns blazing style, but this isn't you," he says, packing the shoulder wound. He moves to inspect the pelvic injury. "Shit, Steph! I think you shot his dick off!" he exclaims, quickly applying pressure.

I suppress a smirk and walk to the front of the house to wait for the cavalry. The ambulance arrives first, and I jerk my thumb in the direction of the alley. Morelli pulls up next.

"I knew it," he says, shaking his head in disappointment as he walks towards me. "You're always at the center of mayhem and paperwork. What happened this time?" he questions, acting put out.

"Jimmy Butler, FTA. Masturbating in front of a school. Knocked on the door, he left the residence via the backdoor. I ran through the alley with my gun drawn, announced myself, and ordered him to freeze. He fired at me and hit the adjacent building. I returned fire and called 911," I report coldly.

"Show me," he says, closing his notebook, and I lead him through the alley. "You know, Cupcake, you used to be cute. This butch thing you've got going on, well, it's not doing you any favors in the boyfriend or reputation department," he says condescendingly.

I ignore him and point out the bullet hole from Butler's gun. I walk to where I was standing and show him Butler's position. I explain how I used a motion sensor to alert me to his departure, which is why I was able to intercept him so quickly. An additional squad car arrives during my explanation, and they begin securing the scene. The paramedics transfer Butler to a gurney and quickly wheel him to the ambulance. I hear the sirens indicating their rapid departure, and I lean against the brick wall as I wait for my body receipt.

Morelli consults with the other TPD members at the scene before sauntering over to me. "You know, Cupcake, you keep going the way you are, you're going to end up in jail or dead. For your sake and the sake of all the eligible bachelors of Trenton, I hope you clean up your act," he says, returning the capture paperwork and receipt to me.

I take the paperwork and leave without a backward glance.

Nothing I do, no matter what the intent, sets me on a path of moral rightness. Everything I do is wrong and found wanting. I can brush off Morelli's words, but Eddie's sting. Even he finds me morally deficient. I do a quick safety sweep of my car and drive away.

Trip and Mooner are in the middle of a Star Trek marathon when I knock on the door of the single-wide trailer. "Hey Dudette," Mooner says, without taking his eyes from the screen. "Got time to chill?"

"Busy day," I reply. "Trip Young?" I confirm.

"Yeah," he replies before taking a bite of flaming hot Cheetos.

"Let's go reschedule your court date. I need to put the cuffs on you as a formality," I say, indicating he should stand. I cuff and shackle every FTA in my vehicle now, without exception.

"You sure it can't wait until the end of the episode," he whines. I shake my head no.

Trip looks resigned, wipes his hands on his jeans, and stands, holding his wrists out to me. I give Mooner a nod of thanks and escort Trip to the station. He falls asleep halfway.

The junior officer staffing the intake desk gives me a double-take and looks apprehensive when I escort the half-conscious stoner into the station. I shut down the betting against me three months ago.

I brought in Earl Ratkowski, a mean drunk with a history of DUIs. It was well known through the rumor mill that he would beat his kids as a form of tough discipline, but no charges were ever filed. I found him at his local watering hole, and the takedown was difficult. He was belligerent and got in a good blow to my shoulder before pulling a knife and slicing my forearm. I used a self-defense move Hector taught me to twist his hand while digging my fingers into a pressure point, and he dropped the blade. I quickly pressed the prongs of my stun gun into him, and he dropped like a sack of potatoes. I slapped on the handcuffs, and the bouncer helped me load him into the back of the CR-V. I shacked him to the floor, and he started to come to about a mile from the station.

"I know you," he mumbled, drool spilling from the corners of his lips. "You're the broad that killed Eric Farro," he says with the voice of a pack-a-day-for-twenty-years habit. "Word on the street is that you ain't no lady. I've got a big prick. Maybe we can make a deal. My standards aren't too high, so I'd be willing to fuck you, and you can set me free. What do you say?" he managed, laughing in-between moist, raspy coughs. I dragged him into the station, my shoulder and arm aching, while he made obscene jokes at my expense the entire way.

"Pay up, Jimmy," Big Dog boomed. "I told you she'd be in tonight with blood all over her. We were due for a Vampire Steph." Jimmy pulled a fifty out of his wallet, and I snapped.

I lunged across the counter and forcibly removed the bill from Jimmy's hand. "There will be no betting on anything to do with Stephanie Plum anymore," I threatened. "Spread the word. The next time I hear about someone profiting at my expense, it's more than your money I'll be taking. I will do everything I can to make sure that person's life, both professionally and personally, is a living hell. Give me my capture receipt. Now." I'm not a popular person at the station anymore, but people do work quickly to get me on my way.

I leave, head over to the bank, and park to watch for Edith Hayes. If this capture goes as smoothly as I hope, I'll have time for the gun range and a round of training with Hector before taking on Sanchez. I lean back in my seat and enter my zone. The more reclusive I've become the past few months, the easier I find surveillance to be.

I don't even twitch when Tank marches up the driver's side door and knocks on the window. "Let's talk, Little Girl," he booms.

I'm immediately ramped up. I lower the window a centimeter. "Do not call me Little Girl," I reply angrily, my eyes narrowing.

Tank looks taken aback, and his shoulders drop. "I heard someone shot you this morning. Are you okay?" he finally says. I'm surprised at the turn in the conversation, but I don't let it show.

"Fine," I retort.

I'm about to close the window when Tank says, "We miss you, Steph. Will you come by Haywood sometime?"

I give him a long stare. "No," I say. There's no way I will enter that building. There's a 50/50 chance I would end up in a holding cell, and a one hundred percent chance everything I own would end up with a tracking device on it.

Tank looks resigned. "Ranger made his last checkpoint. Looks like he'll be home in three to four months," he reports in a softer tone. I don't reply but keep my eyes on the door of the bank as Edith begins walking to her car while digging through her handbag distractedly.

"Move," I command, pushing the car door open. Thankfully, Tank steps aside without any trouble. I jog over and block Edith's path.

"Bond enforcement. You missed your court date," I state as Edith shrieks in surprise. I see her reach for a bottle of pepper spray in the bottom of her purse, and I knock it from her hand as she raises the bottle to gas me. "I'm here to help you reschedule," I continue, quickly cuffing her. Tank opens the backdoor for me, and I attach the floor chains to her cuffs before picking up the pepper spray and handbag that scattered in the parking lot during the citizen's arrest.

I lock myself in the vehicle before rolling down the window a crack. "Did you plant any trackers I'll need to return?" I ask frostily. Tank suppresses a scowl before he walks away.

I take my three receipts and bring them over to the bonds office. Vinnie pokes his head out of his office as I walk in. "You gotta stop shooting the FTA's, Stephanie," he whines. "It's giving us a bad reputation."

I give Vinnie a cold look, and he scurries back into his office and bolts the door shut. "Damn, White Girl. You could give Ranger a run for his money with a look like that," Lula pipes up.

"Well, if Vinnie fires you, I'm sure my Uncle Vito would be happy to take you on. The Mob tends to be less discriminatory," Connie says, handing me a check. I walk out without saying a word.

I drive to an abandoned lot and pull over to give my car a thorough inspection, inside and out. I don't trust Tank as far as I can throw him. I don't find anything, but I call Hector and ask him to meet me with the electronic sweep. He joins me fifteen minutes later.

"That was quite the show this morning, _Angelita_," he grins. "It's my new favorite video clip. You had everyone scurrying like ants." I almost smile in reply.

Hector begins his sweep, starting with my body. "Excellent shooting this morning. I hear that _pendejo _will never wank off again," he says, knowing I won't reply. "I'm glad you weren't hurt." I purse my lips at his last sentiment and take a step away as he begins sweeping my vehicle.

"What are you doing tonight, _Estephania_?" Hector asks, and I turn back towards him.

"609 Club. Oscar Sanchez is FTA," I reply, pointing to the file in the front seat. Hector finishes his sweep and reads it before walking over to me.

"This file was meant for Rangeman. What are you doing with it?" he asks, his eyes boring into me.

"I can handle it," I state, crossing my arms over my chest.

"Do you want me to come with?" Hector asks.

I shake my head no.

"Remember your promise, _Angelita_," Hector says after a long pause. "I'll meet you at the range."

I drive to a gun range at the end of a strip mall in Hamilton Township. There's a mixed martial arts gym at the opposite end, and Hector has an arrangement with the owner to make individual use of the studio. Hector and I spend the next hour and a half shooting and practicing self-defense and hand-to-hand combat moves on each other. I consistently lost when we started four months ago, but I've steadily become an equal partner after four times or more per week practice sessions. I think it's one of the only things keeping me sane.

When I return to my apartment, I disarm the sensors with my phone before parking my car and entering my apartment, reactivating them as soon as I lock the spaces behind me. I do a quick sweep of my home with my gun drawn before hanging my jacket on a hook near the door, putting my key ring on the nail, and resting my weapons on the counter next to Rex. I pull the bottle of tequila out of the cupboard and pour myself a tumblerful. I sip it while making a peanut butter and olive sandwich and feeding Rex.

After polishing off the sandwich, I drain the glass with a grimace and turn on the shower. I throw my clothes into the hamper and step into the small box. Angrily, I beat my fist against the tile wall before letting out a yell of rage. I tamp down my emotions throughout the day, but they explode in the quiet safety of my apartment.

When I saw the files, I thought today is a chance for me to do something right. I can put a man who is a threat to children behind bars, and surely that is a positive point for me in the grand cosmic balance of things. Now, I don't even know if he is alive and worse, I'm don't care. I shot him, and each bullet went exactly where I intended it.

My ears begin ringing as my distress increases. Since Farro, the noise is a daily reminder of the grotesque brutality that occurred between us. It drowns out the outside world, and all I hear are his final words to me. Murderer. Killer. All because I wouldn't spread my legs. Live with that.

I wash and shave quickly, wanting to escape the small stall of hellish recollection. I step out and towel dry my hair, numbing myself again with each action I take to go out tonight and capture Oscar Sanchez, my next chance at beginning to earn redemption.

I put on a black thong with a black leather miniskirt and stilettoed thigh-high boots. I secure my knife in the custom notch in the lining of the boots after pulling up the zipper. I pull a strappy crisscross latex halter off a hanger and shimmy the side zipper up after adjusting my boobs for maximum cleavage in the cups.

I exchange my nose stud for a silver ring, apply silvery grey shadow with heavy black liner and mascara, and line and paint my lips dark red. My leather jacket also has custom holsters for my guns, and I select my revolver and small Sig Sauer and conceal them in the folds. I place my cuffs in one pocket and taser in the other. My ID, cash, lipstick, and condoms are in the front zippered pockets.

At 11 pm I drive and park my vehicle outside the 609 Club, arming the alarm before stepping inside. I glance around the establishment and make eye contact with the various patrons as I slowly walk to the bar. I don't have to wait for the bartender to take my drink order, and he quickly places a double-shot of tequila, on the rocks with a twist of lime, on the sticky wood in front of me. I'm about to pay when the man sitting next to me tells the barkeep to put it on his tab.

He's Hispanic with the body of a gym rat and close-cut hair. He's attractive in a street-hardened way. "_Hola, Senorita_," he says, attempting to ooze charm. "I'm Caesar, and you are…" he says, waiting for my answer.

"Available," I answer evenly, and he laughs, slapping his hands on his thighs. He picks up his beer and clinks the neck against my raised glass.

"I'm new in town, but I heard this is a place I can go if I'm interested in more than just finding a good time," I state, trailing my hand up the inside of his leg.

Caesar regards me more seriously, "Yeah, baby, I can help you with that," he says before leaning forward. "But first you need to help me with this," and he puts my hand over his hard dick.

"Mmmm…" I purr. "This is my lucky night." I give him a light squeeze before leaning back and draining my glass. "Bottom's up," I tease with a slight smirk.

Caesar drains the rest of his beer in one gulp and takes my hand to lead us to the rear of the bar. I stop in front of the restroom and pull him inside after me and lock the door. I push him against the wall and begin undoing his jeans. "I don't want to wait," I breathe into his ear while extracting his dick. In reality, this is a calculated move. I never go to an unknown vehicle or residence, and I'm sure as hell not leading people to mine. I reach into my pocket for the flavored condom, rip open the packaging, and use my mouth to guide it over his throbbing member. He tightly clutches the top of my hair as I do, groaning.

After a moment, I stand again and reach under my skirt to pull my thong down to my knees. "I only ask one thing from you," I say, taking a step closer. "Make it rough."

Caesar grins with a dark glint in his eyes. "You'll never forget Caesar when we're finished," he says in a deeply accented voice, grabbing my arm and twisting me around so that my torso is pressed into the sink. I moan in anticipation, and Caesar chuckles as he yanks my skirt up and lands a palm heavily on my ass. I jerk against the sudden pain but spread my legs wider. My move encourages him to hit me repeatedly on each side, each impact harder than the last before suddenly slamming into me.

I feel dirty, cheap, debased, and it's everything I deserve. These moments are where I face my darkest instincts, desires, and self-loathing head on, and it's the only time I feel alive. I don't always orgasm, but after today, I find myself building towards it quickly. When another sharp blow from Caesar's hand pushes me into the mirror, I explode in a collision of pure hatred and pleasure.

I feel him grab my ass roughly and hold me in place as he reaches his completion. He pulls out shortly after, and I quickly stand, clean myself up, and adjust my clothing.

"I'm here most nights. You come to find me whenever you're _available_, baby. Now let's find my friend Oscar. He's got whatever you're looking for," Caesar replies with a half-smile, and I follow him to the far corner of the bar.

Oscar is half-hidden in the shadows of the booth. He's surrounded by two women with less clothing on than me and four guys roughly the size of Caesar. The only way I'll be able to apprehend him is if I can draw him away. As we approach, Oscar says something into the ear of the woman next to him, and she scoots out of the booth. I slide in next to him so that our thighs are touching, and Caesar pulls a chair up at the end.

Oscar raises a hand, and a server takes our drink order. The two men begin a rapid exchange in Spanish, but despite my recent efforts at better learning the language, it's too fast and accented for me to make out anything meaningful. After the waitress places another tequila in front of me, Oscar puts a hand on the inside of my thigh and begins slowly moving it up towards my pussy. "I hear you're looking to make a purchase," he says in a low voice. His fingers roughly trace my slit on the outside of my panties. "My friend made you wet, but I can tell you're a woman who wants more," he continues in a voice low enough that only I can hear. "The first order is always free, but I would be willing to extend the offer if we can make an arrangement," he suggests, sliding a finger into my hole.

I suppress a gasp at his brazenness and take a long sip of my drink before spreading my legs a little wider. He adds a second digit, and I give him an appraising look. "I think we can work something out," I reply before leaning in a little closer. "My car is outside. Can we take this party somewhere else?"

"Patience," he replies in the same low tone, adding a third finger.

"Yes, sir," I whisper into his ear as I wiggle slightly against him, and he takes my hand and rests it against his dick. I slip my hand inside the zipper of his loose-fitting trousers and immediately begin to jerk him off as requested.

I can tell he's near when he suddenly removes his hand from my dripping center and jerks mine out of his pants. He zips up and wipes his hand dry as a new person sits in the booth. "Lester," he says with a nod and my blank face slams into place as I meet eyes with the equally impassive man across from me.

"We have a deal," Lester says to Oscar, never taking his stare away off me. "Who's this beautiful woman sitting next to you? Does she have a price?" he says with a crook of his eyebrow.

Oscar laughs. "Yes, I will honor our agreement," he says, taking a sip of an amber liquid. "This one," he continues, nodding his head towards me. "Not mine, but she's available. Though, I don't think you can give her what she needs," and he laughs again. Oscar pushes against me, and I slide out from the booth and stand as Oscar follows. Lester continues to stare at me, before standing and clasping Oscar on the shoulder.

Lester leans into Oscar, says something under his breath in Spanish, and begins to lead him out of the bar. I'm furious. Rangeman poached my FTA. I start to follow at a distance, trying not to draw any unnecessary attention. I make it through the door and stop outside, pulling a cigarette and lighter out of my pocket as I do so. I light the smoke and let it rest between my fingers as I get my bearings and see where Lester may have lead Oscar. I don't smoke, but I've learned having a pack available is a useful distraction or way to get people to talk to me. There's a black SUV parked at the end of the block, and I begin to walk in that direction.

The next moment, I'm being dragged into the narrow space between the close-set buildings and am pressed roughly against the brick wall with a hand over my mouth. I force myself to go limp in the hopes it lulls my attacker into a false sense of security. The moment he loosens his grip, I'll be able to fight myself free and gain access to my weapons.

"What the hell do you think you're doing, Beautiful?" Lester hisses, his face angry. "Are you running a solo distraction? Do you have any idea how dangerous that is? I know what you were doing in the bathroom and in that booth! What's going on with you?"

"Looks like I can add poaching thief and hypocrite to my list of character traits for you," I retort, my anger rising with every second. "That was my FTA, and I don't owe you any explanation. Now let me go," I say, pushing against his arms.

Sadness replaces the anger on Lester's face, and he rests his forehead against mine. "What happened, Stephanie?" he whispers. "I hate seeing you this way."

"Get used to it," I say sharply and take advantage of his relaxed posture to escape. I push my leg against his kneecap and use the brief second it causes Lester to be off-balance to duck under his arm and point my gun at him. I keep it level as I sidestep out of the alley, checking my six as I go. Lester remains in place with his hands visible. I know he has more fight than that, but I'm grateful that he isn't making it any more difficult for me to leave. When I reach the sidewalk, I stride quickly to my car, stopping short when Hector steps out of the shadows.

"Give me the keys," he says, holding out his hand. The fight goes out of me, and I fob the car open and pass him the ring when we settle into the seats.

He drives silently for about twenty minutes before pulling over to park at the corner of an intersection with a gas station, several bars, a music lounge, and other similar businesses.

Hector reaches across the console and gives my hand a quick squeeze. "Don't forget that you are good, _Angelita_. The pain does not define who you are," he says before getting out of the car. I step onto the sidewalk and follow him into a tattoo parlor as the vehicle locks behind me.

* * *

**A/N:** I couldn't wait until Monday morning to update. I look forward to reading your reactions to the chapters too much! After this, we begin mixing up the POVs. I'd love you read your thoughts on this new Steph and where you think the story is going as our heroine becomes a _Warrior_. For something much lighter than this, I posted chapter 3 of _To be Proud_ Friday.

Misty23y is simply the best. Please check out her crossover _The Night That Changed Everything._ So freaking good. If you want to have your heart ripped into a thousand pieces and trampled on in all of the best ways with misty23y's exquisitely beautiful and emotionally intense writing, check out _I'll Never Love Again._ Thank you for everything, Babe!


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer:** Anything recognizable belongs to Janet Evanovich, and the rest is mine. I'm grateful she lets us play.

**Warning:** Dark fic. Adult language, adult content, violence, smut. This is written for mature audiences only.

**A/N:** I decided not to let the darkness of the last chapter simmer for a week in everyone's brains. This is lighter and begins to explain the _why_.

* * *

**Chapter Four**

**Ranger's POV**

_**Three Months Later**_

I step off the Rangeman private jet at the airport in Trenton and let out a slow sigh of relief. Home.

When I told my handler this mission would be my last, the government extracted every minute they could from me with the seemingly never-ending deployment from hell. Stephanie was the bright light I honed in on, and thinking of her gave me the purpose I needed to focus on the end game. My team met the mission objectives early, but at a cost. Being in a combat environment for nearly a year takes a toll on the psyche, and my debrief period lasted for six weeks. My team stayed together as we took advantages of VA resources to process and allowed our bodies, both physically and mentally, to heal.

Tank is standing outside a Cayenne on the edge of the tarmac and hugs me as a brother when I reach the vehicle. "Good to see your ugly face again, Ranger," he says, and I smile. Tank passes me the keys, and I feel satisfaction as the engine roars to life.

"Report," I bark, and Tank grins with satisfaction before leaning back in the seat and beginning the data dump. He tells me about revenues and losses, areas the business is expanding and struggling, basic personnel reports, Lester's antics, Julie, and bits of Trenton gossip he thinks will interest me. There's one person he doesn't mention, and my internal radar starts beeping.

"Stephanie?" I say, pulling into the garage. Tank sighs and avoids eye contact as I place the vehicle into park.

"She's alive, Ranger," he says, reading my mind. "The rest of the Core Team is assembled in your office."

My thoughts race as I take the stairs two at a time up to five. "Attention on deck!" one of the former Navy Rangeman calls out, and everyone springs to attention before clapping and hooting. "Welcome back, Ranger!" the guys call out, and I wave at them to sit down with a half grin before entering the office. It is good to be back, but where is the best part?

Lester immediately embraces me in a big bear hug, which I expected from him, but holds me a little longer and a little tighter. He lets go without a word, passing me off to Bobby, and my radar pings louder. Bobby pats my back in a one-armed bro-hug, and I move to sit behind my desk with a deep sense of satisfaction. Tank steps into the room and stands in front of the closed door.

"Stephanie is," Tank starts and falters. "Different."

"Explain," I say tersely, my impatience growing. The guys look between each other.

"Something happened, we aren't sure what, but Beautiful has cut us out of her life. We don't know where she lives, and we aren't able to track her movements," Lester starts heavily.

"We've tried," Tank cuts in as I lean back in my chair and cross my arms over my chest. "She's paranoid about security, and any effort we make at planting a device or putting a tail on her is quickly thwarted. I suspect Hector might be helping her, but I can't prove it."

"Show him the video," Lester says, and Tank passes me a tablet with a saved file of the surveillance feed from outside Rangeman cued. I glance at the date time stamp and see it's from about three months ago before I press play.

I watch in disbelief as a woman I barely recognize as Stephanie begins dragging items out of her car and assembling them on the lawn. "What does she say here?" I demand, keeping my eyes on the screen.

"Do not track me," Tank replies, and I raise my eyebrow slightly.

I watch as the feed ends with the fireball and rewind it to a still shot just before she throws the flaming bottle. It's Stephanie, but her expression is completely devoid of emotion. Her face is blank, but rage fills her eyes.

"This is Bomber's medical file," Bobby says, passing a second tablet to me. "She's continued to use Rangeman for medical insurance, but she seeks care at different providers and clinics outside the Burg, rarely going to the same place twice. It's my belief she doesn't know I receive a copy of the claims as the default primary medical provider, and I was afraid if I approached her about any of this that she would stop seeking care."

The file begins with an ambulance transport, x-ray, CT-scan, sutures, bone setting, casting and removal, and continues with numerous ER visits for stitches, burn treatments, a pelvic exam and STD testing, physical therapy, as well as prescriptions for pain medicines, antibiotics, and respiratory illness.

I lean back in my chair and close my eyes as I try to reconcile what my team is telling me about Stephanie with my memory of her. I'm astounded things have deteriorated to this point, and no one was able to intervene. Their first observation is the changes they observed seemed sudden, but it doesn't follow that there wouldn't be a specific event or events that could explain it.

I steady my breathing and keep my emotions in check. I trust my friends, but perhaps they have been in the middle of the situation for so long they no longer see it clearly. I open my eyes and lean forward.

"Treat Stephanie like a case and walk back the history," I state. "You said you think something happened, but you don't know what. Let's break this down."

All three men sit and look thoughtful. "For the first couple of months after you left, Beautiful seemed sad but normal. She tried to make it work with Morelli, but it was clear there was tension between them," Lester muses.

"She didn't work much here, and I heard from Vinnie she was pressuring him for a couple of higher bond FTAs," Tank said. "That's how Steph was assigned Farro."

"Farro?" I question.

"That takedown went south, and that's what lead to the first few items in her medical report," Bobby states.

"Show me the official file," I direct, logging into my computer. Tank tells me the share drive address, and I begin reading. I'm immediately angry Stephanie went after this skip, and I push the emotions aside to continue reading with a clear mind. This FTA was well outside of Steph's ability level, and Vinnie should never have given her this file, no matter what Steph said to him. We all know that Steph isn't keen on taking partners, and if she does, Lula is not going to be an asset in apprehending someone like Farro.

I move onto the official police report, and the first thing I notice is how short it is. I pull open Stephanie's statement, and it's even sparser. I skim the forensics report and slow when I reach the attached photos of both Steph and the crime scene. It's a miracle my Babe is alive.

"Tell me what you remember happening," I order, looking first at Tank.

"The control room notified me of a shooting involving Steph they heard over the police scanner. Lester and I suited up and raced over to her tracker location. I entered the apartment first, and Lester followed. Lester went to Steph, and I checked the vitals on the FTA," Tank says.

"Beautiful was standing in the kitchen, and she looked dazed," Lester picks up. "When I tried to get her attention, she didn't seem to hear me. After the third try, Steph shook her head and focused on me. I asked her what happened, and she gave me a basic rundown, about the same as the police report. I didn't have a chance to ask her any questions before Eddie arrived on the scene. I gathered that Beautiful called him, and he got there before the rest of TPD."

"Eddie escorted Steph from the crime scene, and we followed," Tank interrupts. "Morelli met us on the stairs and started going off on her giving him heartburn and not being good at her job. The usual. Steph demanded Morelli move out of her way, but he refused. She kneed him in the junk, and when he doubled over in pain, pushed him down with her shoulder. That would be the official break-up."

That's interesting. Steph normally ignores conflict and seldom instigates it. That's a strong reaction from her, especially when leaving a crime scene. "Was Eddie the only person Steph called from the scene?" I ask.

"I don't know," Tank replies, his eyebrows furrowing. "I'll get Rodriguez on it," and he steps out of the office. I use the next five minutes to reread the file on Farro carefully.

"This is Steph's call history," Tanks says, walking into the office and setting a stapled report on my desk. "She disabled her phone after Farro, but she retained the same phone number. We think she's forwarding messages to a burner. She uses a web service to make untraceable calls. The last calls she made and answered on her old phone are following the shooting. She called Morelli for two minutes and immediately afterward, Eddie for one. Morelli called back three minutes after that for a one-minute conversation, and he didn't called again."

I rest my elbow on my desk and rub my hand over my mouth. "Do you know if Morelli was cheating on Steph?" I ask, looking up from the report.

"The Chief asked us to do surveillance on Morelli a month after you left as part of a character and fitness investigation. He was considering assigning him undercover on a special assignment, but he wasn't sure if Morelli was a good fit. Our findings showed he had a long-term affair going with Terry Gilman, which is still ongoing. The contract with TPD required confidentiality. We didn't tell Steph about the affair. Due to Morelli's mob connections as a result of his affair with Gilman, he was passed over for the assignment, and his career has stalled," Tank says.

Steph broke up with Morelli at the crime scene, but she is the champion at avoiding interpersonal conflict. I looked into Morelli myself before I left on deployment, and I didn't know about the affair. I think about all the times I pushed Steph away, believing him to love her and to be a good match for her. I'm not often wrong about people, and the discovery that he violated Steph's trust makes me furious. I can only imagine how she felt, especially if she was already in a highly charged emotional environment. I sit quietly for a moment and focus on putting my anger aside.

"I'm guessing she found out about the affair, and that's what the calls before and after Eddie were about," I say after a long pause.

Lester quietly whistles. "That makes sense, Ranger. Beautiful was enraged when she saw Morelli. I didn't recall right away, because I tend to tune out Morelli's rants, but, more specifically, he said that Steph had a lot of nerve hanging up on him and refusing to answer his calls, plural, after she killed someone. She must have blocked his number, and that's a strong reaction for her, especially if she reached out to him for help first," he says reflectively.

"Okay, so far we know that Steph shot Farro, called Morelli, figured out he was having an affair and hung up before calling Eddie to the crime scene. Morelli called back, and Steph hung up and blocked his calls. You guys arrived on the scene, and Steph seemed dazed. Eddie escorted everyone downstairs, and in the stairwell, Morelli blocked Steph's exit. He ranted at her, and she broke up with him and took him down," I recant, and everyone nods their agreement. "Continue."

"I first saw Bomber at the ambulance," Bobby chimes in. "Looking back on it, my first impression was shell shock. Steph answered questions, but she didn't volunteer information and was fairly expressionless. Her heart rate was exceptionally high, like 170s and 80s, as was her blood pressure. I observed a cut on her temple with some swelling and bruising, but nothing that appeared to be severe. Forensics came in and asked permission to take their samples, and Steph agreed but asked me to stay." Bobby leans forward from his perch on the sofa, places his elbows on his knees and chin in his hands as a pensive looks forms.

"You know, I've treated Bomber at several scenes and with worse injuries, but she never seemed so insecure or out of sorts before. I should have noticed it at the time, but our focus was on working the scene and getting her out of there. It wasn't until forensics went to swab her hands that I noticed the bruising and swelling on Steph's wrist and finger. I don't think she did either," Bobby reflects somberly.

"When forensics finished, I went into the ambulance to check on her," Tank says, and I shift my gaze to him. "I called her by my nickname for her, Little Girl, and she lost it. Steph started screaming and was fighting me to get to the door of the ambulance."

"I sedated her, and we transported her to the hospital immediately. All in all, her physical injuries weren't too bad. The ER wanted to keep her until she woke up, but I convinced them to release her to my care. Even with the drive back to Haywood, Steph remained asleep for around fourteen hours. I spent the night in the adjacent office to monitor her, and Tank and Lester joined me about fifteen minutes before Bomber woke up. I'd say that was around 0500," Bobby states.

"You know, even then, she was already different," Lester muses, shaking his head. "Beautiful had a blank face, but she seemed sad. She bolted immediately, refusing to stay or even let one of us drive her back to her place. I followed her at a distance but returned when I saw the lights go on in her apartment."

"Steph vacated her apartment later that day and destroyed or relocated all of her trackers. She more or less went underground for a month before beginning skip tracing again," Tanks says heavily, and his shoulders drop.

"Did you see Steph when she woke up?" I ask, trying to get a better picture of what would make Stephanie run away. That's what she usually does when she feels threatened by people or is in emotional distress. Bobby said she was unusually dependent on him in the ambulance before she snapped after Tank called her Little Girl. The two things don't add up.

Bobby shakes his head no. "I heard the bathroom door and met her in the exam room when she came out. Tank and Lester met up with her in the hallway after she gathered her things.

"What were you guys doing just before Steph awoke?" I continue, my internal radar pinging loudly.

"Talking," Lester shrugs. "Bobby gave us an update on her condition."

"Oh, shit," Tank says, sitting down on the couch. "She must have heard us."

Lester rolls his head back and bangs his closed fist on his thighs. "Fuck!"

I look between the three of them as their expressions become serious, and it's difficult for me to be patient while they gather their thoughts. Tank speaks up first.

"All of us were frustrated about Steph's involvement with Farro. You know how it is when someone is shot at close range. Horrible. It shook all of us that Steph was involved and how close she came to dying. We hated that she didn't call us for back-up," Tank says. "I don't remember who said what, but Steph may have heard us say that if she continued to refuse our help or training and kept going after skips like Farro, we believed that she would end up dead. At least one of us said something about how you were going to take us to the mats for what had happened. I said that I loved Steph, but my first loyalty was to you, and I was concerned about what her death would do to you. We were all in a dark place that morning."

Bobby leans back in the sofa and laces his fingers over his head. "If Bomber heard that part of our conversation, it would explain her reaction that morning. She would have already been emotionally vulnerable, and that must have felt like a betrayal. I never considered it before, because Steph's always bounced back from everything without doing much talking," he says before hanging his head. "We fucked up."

I respect Tank for being honest, and I'm not going to lash out at him over it, at least not right now. I turn in my chair and look at the sky through the window, keeping my blank face in place as a guard against my internal turmoil. I gave these guys one instruction before I left, and that was to watch out for Stephanie. In reality, they placed themselves and me above her, which was the last thing I wanted to have happened. There will be a reckoning, but it needs to wait.

I face forward and say evenly, "Tell me about her behavior since." I want the guys to continue to be forthcoming.

"Closed off," Tank says. "She's an expert at your blank face. One-word answers, if you get any at all. If I slip and call her Little Girl, she's instantly angry, but the only place you see it is in her eyes, and it's scary. She's also paranoid about security, and she obsessively inspects her vehicles and personal possessions for trackers. She sees and loses a tail fairly quickly. Steph doesn't use her bank for financial transactions anymore, so I assume she's using cash or gift cards. There are no records for utilities or property agreements in her name or any known aliases."

Lester looks at me apprehensively, and I raise an eyebrow in question. "You aren't going to want to hear this Ranger, but she's also developing a reputation on the streets as being promiscuous. She's known to frequent seedy bars for one-night stands, and the rumors are that the interactions are very physical," he says uncomfortably. "What's odd about that, outside of the obvious, is that Steph adamantly refuses to let any of us touch her. In the rare instances we do interact, if any of us places a casual hand on her or even brushes past her, she automatically tenses and forcibly pushes us away. I've observed, undetected, or at least I think, Beautiful in a few of the establishments, and I was astounded at how much tequila she could pack away without showing any effects. I think she's, at a minimum, abusing alcohol."

"Steph shut down betting against her at the police station several months ago, and since then, her new TPD nickname is Rambette," Tanks says. "She's developed a habit of trying to steal Rangeman FTA files, and Connie and I are increasingly at odds over it. I'll be the first to say her competencies as a bounty hunter has improved by leaps and bounds, but she only works alone. I wouldn't do some of the takedowns she attempts alone, so I'd add risk-taking to our list of descriptors. Anyway, as a result, she's developed a shoot first and ask questions later reputation, but I'm not sure it's completely warranted."

"More positively, Bomber has struck me as very determined, and someone, again we think Hector, has been teaching her weapons skills and self-defense maneuvers," Bobby says.

Lester nods his head yes. "Agreed. Beautiful forced me off balance and pulled her gun on me to escape when I thought I had her cornered after I intervened in a takedown she shouldn't have been near a couple of months ago," Lester adds.

"We've tried to determine if there are any patterns in Bomber's routine," Bobby adds, "Since we are unable to track her the usual ways. The nearest we can determine is that, if she plans on going into the bonds office, she is in and out the moment Connie or Vinnie unlock the doors. Connie and Lula have tried to stall Steph if she goes in later to get her capture check, but she doesn't have any patience for it. We rarely arrive before Steph is leaving or has left. Steph usually goes to her parent's house for dinner once a week, but she changes the night and never stays long."

I pick up a pen and roll it between my fingers. "You're saying that Steph acts as closed off and paranoid as me, struggles with alcohol like you," I think aloud, pointing my pen at Tank, "uses sex like you," I continue, pointing at Lester, "and, seeks out family, despite their past behavior, like you," I finish, pointing to Bobby. Everyone nods thoughtfully.

I continue to turn my pen as my brain turns the guys' descriptions of Stephanie around. It's difficult for me to imagine my wild-haired, blue-eyed, free-spirited woman so severe and closed off. It's a sudden and radical change, and I have to fight the urge to run out and be Steph's white knight. I'm also working hard to keep my emotions at bay so I can focus on the mission at hand, namely help my Babe.

"I know why we are the way we are, but why would the darkness we fight manifest itself in Stephanie?" I muse. I turn back to the case file on Farro, wanting something to jump out at me.

"Did Steph go to counseling or talk to anyone after shooting Farro? Do we know anything else about what happened other than the police report?" I ask, feeling frustrated, knowing there's something we are missing.

Bobby stands and begins pacing the room. "No, nothing, and there's an excellent chance we drove her away," he says forlornly.

I scroll back through the photos. "Let's recreate the what happened between Farro and Stephanie," I say, and the guys stand and push the chairs back. "Tank, you're Farro, and Lester, you're Stephanie. I'll narrate the report, and Bobby, you collaborate the forensics and medical evidence."

Lester and Tank demonstrate how Steph could have knocked on the door, tasered Farro, and attempted to handcuff him.

"The blow to Bomber's head would have come from above her," Bobby says, "So she must have been knocked down sometime after placing the first cuff on him. The taser could have initially worked on Farro, but, the charge if it wasn't set high enough, a man his size could have been able to recover faster than Steph expected."

Tank pushes Lester onto his back. "Time out," Lester calls. "At the crime scene, Beautiful told me that after the initial physical contact, Farro attempted to assault her sexually." Tank and Lester repeat the reenactment so that Tank falls on top of Lester, pinning him to the ground.

"We observed bruising on Stephanie here," Bobby says, crouching beside Tank and Lester while pointing to the inside of Lester's thighs, "And here, which looked like a handprint," he says placing Tank's hand over Lester's right pec.

Lester and Tank look grim. "Steph wouldn't take this without a fight," I state, forcing myself to remain dispassionate, but the idea of Farro trying to force himself on Steph makes me want to resurrect him so I can kill him myself. "What if she tried to fight back, and that's when Farro punched her in the temple?" Tank pulls back his fist to demonstrate the blow.

"Beautiful says she fought him off. She forced me off-balance to get past me in the alley. What if she did the same thing to Farro? After he struck her, Farro could have remained off center as he recovered, and she could have rolled away, at least enough to get to free her arms and reach for something in her belt or pocket," Lester says, and he and Tank reset the demo.

"This is when Farro went for the gun. The table Steph pointed to wasn't far from the body. He could have kept himself upright when Steph rolled away and reached up for it," Tank says.

"Pause," Bobby states, walking back to look at the photos with me. He pulls up the x-ray file of her broken wrist and finger. "Lester, what did Bomber tell you happened next?"

Lester pauses as he recollects before saying, "She thought Farrow was going to shoot her when he dropped the gun due to a spasm in his arm from the taser. They fought for the gun, and the weapon fired."

"The break indicates over-rotation from a level plane of motion," Bobby says, pulling his gun out from his leg holster. He drops the magazine on my desk and verifies the chamber is empty before closing the slide. "Farro would have the advantage in picking up a dropped gun if Steph was still laying flat, so how did she get to it first?" Bobby says, placing the gun on the floor between Tank and Lester.

It hits me with a knife twist to my stomach. "Stephanie was on her knees already," I say. "Farro was about to execute her when he dropped the gun."

"Fuck," Lester breaths as he pulls himself up to his knees and raises his hands. Tank points the gun at Lester, and we all freeze as we visualize Steph instead of Lester.

I slowly let out a long stream of air as a chill ripples through me.

Tank shakes his arm and drops the gun, and Lester and Tank dive for it in slow motion. Bobby finetunes the positions of their hands and bodies and begins to guide their movements. "It makes the most sense to me that they were pushing against each other to control the direction of the barrel. It's unlikely Steph was able to get to her feet when she grabbed the gun, but she may have been able to get her feet under her. But how did she break her wrist?" he continues absentmindedly, trying different manipulations. I watch and mentally replay the reenactment.

"Steph did what she always does," I say, standing. I tap Lester on the shoulder, and he moves as I take his place. "Steph tried to fight back, forcing herself forward from the balls of her feet," and I push up, and the way Tank's hands are locked over mine force him to move with me. "However, Steph isn't trained in mixed martial arts, so we need to forget our programmed instincts. She wouldn't consider the leverage Farro could gain when she pushes herself up," and a look of understanding crosses Tank's face. He loosens his grip on my hand so that I won't be injured, but he flips me over his back.

"Bobby, when do you think Farro was shot?" I ask, standing and returning to the original position.

"Do it again," he says, and Tank and I comply.

"Halfway through the roll, likely as her hand broke. The momentum would have drawn her fingers into her palm, and she reflexively pulled the trigger," Bobby says. "Farrow fell back this way," he points, "And Steph stopped here, next to where the gun was left at the crime scene. The autopsy showed his carotid artery was severed, and he bled out in around five minutes."

"Five minutes is a long time to watch someone die," Tank says.

I stand abruptly and walk back to my desk and rapidly scroll through the statements and photos again. The hair on the back of my neck is standing up, and I know that I'm close. What am I missing?

The answer is what's missing.

"Steph didn't attempt to save his life," I state, standing upright. "There's no blood on her other than the back splatter from the gunshot. Five minutes _is_ a long time. Bobby, would he have been conscious?"

Bobby pauses before replying. "For at least a couple of minutes, probably," he says, his brows furrowed.

"Did Steph tell any of you something Farro said?" I say, and the atmosphere in the room grows heavy as no one replies. My mind is furiously putting the pieces together.

"Lester, Tank, where, exactly, was Steph when you walked into the apartment?" I ask, pointing to the photos. Lester points to the kitchen. "How was she positioned?" I press quickly.

"She was turned away from the door, looking at the refrigerator," Tanks says. "I remember because I could tell she wasn't being aware of her surroundings."

There's a couple of pictures of the crime scene where the fridge is incidentally included in the shot, and I flip through them before stopping and staring.

"Zoom in on the snapshots," Lester says quietly, and we see a grainy image of a woman and young girl. "Did Farro have a family?" he asks, and I pull up the original court report.

"Wife, estranged, and thirteen-year-old daughter," Tank reads.

"Farro said something to her, and whatever it was, Steph believes it," I say heavily, leaning against my desk. "That's what's missing from the report."

"And he used my nickname. That's why Steph won't let me call her Little Girl anymore," Tank says with an undercurrent of rage.

"Some of Stephanie's behavior post-Farro is consistent with rape victims," Bobby says, pacing the room as he thinks aloud. "But there was no penetration, although the situation was no less violent. I think at least some of what he said to her related to the attempted sexual assault. If he got in her head, Farro must have made it personal." Bobby abruptly stops. "Made it personal. Close quarters violence. Assault. No support," he mumbles, his eyes wide. "I'll be right back," Bobby says, and he runs from my office.

"Do our recreation again. I'm going to record it," I order, taking my phone out of my pocket while Tank and Lester assume their positions. "Go."

I watch them go through the movements seamlessly, and I feel my grip on my emotions slipping as I easily imagine the event with Stephanie and Farro. I end the video and slam my fist onto my desk. Lester sits on the floor with his head between his knees looking sick. Tank appears to be repressing the urge to put a hole in the wall.

I lean into my desk with stiff arms and arched back, taking the quiet moment to center myself. I look up as Bobby bursts back into the room with several books tabbed between his fingers. "One of the unintended consequences of Vietnam was the huge number of psychiatric casualties, which eventually lead to the discovery of PTSD," he starts hurriedly, and I wonder where he is going with this. "Studies found that the political and cultural environments of the 1960s and 70s created a perfect storm. In previous wars, soldiers returned home slowly and as a unit. Officer and NCO clubs on base as well as patriotic organizations, such as the American Legion and VFW thrived. Returning warriors were treated like heroes by their communities and country, and veterans were surrounded with support.

"In Vietnam, personnel were pulled in and out of warzones singularly and, with the advent of convenient air transport, rapidly. A soldier's time was up, and they were sent home to a country that often vilified their service. No support. As of today, more than three times as many Vietnam vets have died from suicide than enemy fire. Consequently, the US adopted what is now known as the Powell Doctrine, which states that we will not engage in a war without strong societal support.

"Ranger, you went on a mission for a year and debriefed with your unit for six weeks before returning home with plans for follow up meetings. Lester, Tank, you have each done the same thing. We have always had support, in the form of mentors, safe areas, awards and validation, cool down periods, acceptance and praise, and with our training. Even still, we all struggle with demons," Bobby reports, pausing to catch his breath.

"The Burg is Vietnam, and Stephanie is that abandoned solider," he states, and I sit down in my chair as the truth of his words slams down on me.

"I'm not going to speculate about Stephanie's mental health. Let's assume what she is doing is rational, at least from her point of view, and she's fairly healthy overall," Bobby continues, opening the first book in front of me, and Lester and Tank surround him. "This graph shows the physiological effects on a body during and after close quarters combat," he points before redirecting our attention to a chart on the next page. "This shows the effects of sustained close quarters combat. Stephanie always seemed so resilient, and with her unconventional approach to bounty hunting, I never mentally thought of her as a warrior. But think about the number of people who have died near her, indirectly because of her, and, this is important, directly because of her. Stephanie has experienced a great deal of violence, more than at least 90% of the members of the Armed Forces and public defenders.

"Humans are naturally resistant to killing other humans, and to overcome the body's instinct to preserve life comes at a physical toll. Because I never regarded Stephanie as a warrior, I interpreted her physical symptoms as typical stress, and because she went through it before, I assumed she would be fine. Look at the charts again. Stephanie, one hundred percent fits the profile of someone who not only experienced close quarters combat but also sustained combat. Add to that sexual assault," Bobby continues, opening a second book. My gut clenches.

"Look, here are common emotional effects of sexual assault. It includes changes in trusting others, anger and blame, shock, numbness, loss of control, disorientation, helplessness, a sense of vulnerability, fear, self-blame or guilt, and feeling that feeling all of that is a sign of weakness," Bobby lists. "Many of these traits are the same as after combat, and it's been proven that the physically closer a person is to the person they kill, the harder it is. In fact, close quarters combat is regarded as one of the most difficult things a person can go through," he says heavily. Bobby takes a small step back from the books and drops his arms at his sides, letting his shoulders droop.

"We've never treated Stephanie like everyone else," he continues with a tone of regret. "Not with the physical, field, professional development, or psychological training. I don't have a full medical history, and she doesn't do the required periodic counseling sessions that we do. I don't know how Steph has processed or dealt with the physical violence, and I have even less of an idea if she had any previous sexual trauma in her past that could have been triggered by the Farro incident. If one of our guys were to have an altercation similar to what Stephanie when through with Farro, we would pull them out of the field, debrief, require counseling, assign him an older mentor to keep a close eye on him, and more." Bobby loses steam and turns away. Tank and Lester appear guilt-stricken.

"_I_ failed her," I state, and three pairs of eyes lock on me. "And you. It's true that Stephanie isn't a Rangeman employee, and she bears some of the responsibility for her decisions to turn away our offers of training. However, I never stressed the _why _of what we were offering, and we usually arrived just in time to prevent grave physical harm. While our interventions were necessary, they also created a false sense of security. One of my greatest fears is that I won't be able to get there in time to save her, and I never gave that fear its due. Further, after we would swoop in to help her, we would leave just as quickly. I never took the time to follow, or even explain, the procedures we have at Rangeman because, Bobby, you're right. I never considered Stephanie to be a warrior, but she is."

I stand and walk to the window, staring out at the Burg.

"Stephanie is a survivor, and that's what she is doing now. If you think about it, her efforts are impressive. In one day, she managed to disappear under Rangeman surveillance and has remained hidden. She improved her marksmanship and hand to hand skills. She's more careful with her physical security, at least until she isn't, but even that seems calculated. It's obvious that Steph is using sex and alcohol as the same psychological band-aid we do, and I'm not going to judge her for it, but I do want to help her," I say evenly before turning back and facing my team.

"I'm going to do everything I can to make things right with our warrior."

* * *

**A/N:** Whew! I feel like this story is a roller coaster, but I think it's important. I wrote Steph the way she is here on purpose. When I was young, it was once easy for me to think, _they shouldn't have done drugs, abused alcohol, used sex as a band-aid, etc._ and forget the person inside and what may have led them to that path. That viewpoint has softened for me the more life I've experienced. When I was a kid, my dad would say, "For every action, there is an equal and opposite reaction, and an object in motion stays in motion, and things take the path of least resistance. The same thing is true with people."

I've had the pleasure of knowing many war vets, and while that demographic tends to be a very mixed bag of humanity, they are ultimately some of the very best people I've ever met. Unfortunately, some of them were in extreme circumstances, and their lives reflected that. I wish Steph's reaction was so out of character as to be unbelievable, but the sad truth is, this happens.

I have many ambitions for this story, and there are a purpose and goal to my characters and their actions. I hope everything makes sense at the end. I would really like to hear your feedback and reactions, good, bad, vent, emotional, group hug, and otherwise. Thank you for reading!

Misty23y is an incredible beta who, at the end of chapter 3 instantly replied without edits OMG! Spot on, Babe. She's an incredible person to work through a story with, and I enjoy our very long e-mail chains.


	5. Chapter 5

**Disclaimer:** Anything recognizable belongs to Janet Evanovich, and the rest is mine. I'm grateful she lets us play.

**Warning:** Dark fic. Adult language, adult content, violence, smut. This is written for mature audiences only.

* * *

**Chapter 5**

**Ranger's POV**

I am forcing myself to remain at Rangeman instead of running out, finding Stephanie, and being her Batman, as she used to call me. After my debrief with Tank, Lester, and Bobby ended, I went up to seven to clear my mind. I pace the rooms circuitously before entering my private office. I keep several photos of Stephanie, my Babe, in my top drawer. I pull them out and lay the snapshots in a neat row on the desktop. It's one thing to evaluate a situation with professional detachment, but it's completely different when the heart is involved.

I pick up a print of a selfie Steph took. She snapped it on my phone without my knowledge when I stayed at her apartment, about a year and a half ago. I rarely take photos, and it was almost a month before I noticed it. It's an amazing shot. Her hair is wild, her eyes are dancing, and her smile looks mischievous. It's in complete contrast to the woman who blew up a tracker on the Rangeman lawn.

I'm only going to get one chance at a first impression with Steph. While I have the benefit of not being a part of the Farro disaster, I have the disadvantage of time. The best course of action is to acquire as much information as possible before setting out to find Stephanie, and this means getting Hector to speak with me. That task is easier said than done.

Hector is the most feared man at Rangeman outside of myself. We also have many things in common. He tends to be stoic, a minimal conversationalist, and is known as a fearsome fighter. His physical advantage lies with his knives and mine with my fists, but no one wants to mess with Hector. Hector is also smarter and more calculating than one would expect if judging the book by its cover. Few people know about Hector's family history, the reason he earned his two teardrops, and his homosexuality. The Core Team does, and I suspect Stephanie does as well. Those two have a special relationship, and if Hector was forced to make a choice, I know that he would pick Steph every time. I'm certain he's an excellent protector, and re-entering Steph's life will be much easier with his cooperation.

I pick my keys up from the silver dish and fob down to the tech department. I enter the heavily air-conditioned server room and walk around the corner to Hector's desk. Binky and Zip are working at an adjacent island, their heads tilting towards each other over a monitor. Hector looks up as I approach.

"_Bienvenido a casa, jefe,_" Hector says to me before telling Binky and Zip to take a break. (Welcome home, boss.)

When the room is empty, and the door is closed, I use my fob to scramble the cameras and sit down in front of Hector. "How is she?" I ask in Spanish, cutting to the chase.

Hector leans back and eyes me silently. "Alive," he says after a long pause. I'm rapidly growing tired of that answer, but I am grateful she's breathing so that I still have a chance to revive her spirit. I suspect that without Hector's direct involvement, Steph wouldn't be breathing.

"Thank you," I reply, and a flash of surprise flares in Hector's eyes.

"What are your intentions?" Hector asks me. I'm taken aback by his directness to me, and I don't immediately respond. Hector looks straight through me.

"if you can't answer that question, I will not help you see _Angelita_," he states with finality.

"I ended my contract with the government," I respond openly, and Hector tilts his chin slightly. "I intend to help Stephanie in any way I can, and, should there still be an opportunity, I intend to date her exclusively." I want Hector to understand I am serious in my pursuit of Stephanie, but I'm not going to pour my heart out to him either.

"You will have one chance with her. _Estefania_ has changed. She will not trust you, and you will need to be forgiving. I have worked very hard to keep her alive, beginning with her soul. If you push her away or break her heart, it will destroy her, and I don't think there is anything I will be able to do to stop it. Think carefully. You need to be all in," Hector says with gravity. I have to swallow hard to push down the lump that swells in my throat.

"I am, and I will be her friend first and foremost. You have my word," I say thickly.

Hector gives me a long stare. I deduce he is making a decision.

"Have you read the Farro file yet?" he eventually asks. I nod yes once; instantly relieved Hector has decided to be forthcoming. "_Estefania_ killed Farro, even if it wasn't intentional. She will not talk about it. The following morning, I noticed her trackers were moving in separate directions, and my gut told me it was deliberate," he continues with a shrug. "I decided to cut the feed in the control room and follow her myself. In one day, recovering from serious wounds, _Estefania _found a new place to live, moved, withdrew all of her cash from the bank, and purchased several security items. I worried for her, and I decided to risk her rejecting me and knocked on the door of her new home." I raise an eyebrow slightly at Hector's dedication to Stephanie.

"_Angelita_ looked like hell," Hector continues bluntly but with resignation. "She let me in with her gun drawn and was very suspicious of my intentions. I attempted to touch her once, but she shied away. After that, I always asked to enter her personal space, even to sit next to her, and I believe it helped me earn some of her trust. I showed her a tracker she missed, and after that, she was more willing to listen to me."

Hearing specific details of Steph's mistrust and attempts at physical security are jarring, even more so since she is at least as suspicious of Rangeman as she is of the general public. Tank, Lester, and Bobby, with their careless conversation, did damage I am still figuring out.

"I made a deal with _Estefania._ She allows me to track her using a specialty fob equipped with a panic button and tracker. I have the data from the fob routed through my private server, and I'm the only one who receives notification. I agreed to help her keep Rangeman from tracking her if she carried this fob. I helped her install security cameras and sensors around the apartment and garage, and I also routed that feed to my private server. I receive notification if something trips the sensors. I took one look at _Estefania_, and I knew she would stop at nothing to prevent Rangeman from knowing her whereabouts. It was the best I could do at having some level of monitoring. I told her I would do this for her in exchange for a promise. She promised not to deliberately destroy any of the tracking devices I gave her or attempt to kill herself," Hector finishes heavily and leans back in his chair. It's a sobering deal between Hector and Steph, but now I also know to take caution should I figure out where she lives.

"Did Steph give you any indication why she wholesale rejected Rangeman or became so closed off, from what I've gathered, overnight?" I ask, wanting Hector's perspective.

"_Angelita_ challenged my offer of help. I'll never forget what she said. It was, 'Why are you worried about me? Afraid Ranger will take you to the mats, too? Or am I only useful as long as my existence protects his life?' Your Core Team said something to her after the Farro incident, and she felt betrayed. I think that's what set all of this into motion. When _Estefania _told me that, she was angry but incredibly sad," Hector says more quietly, and he stares at a point behind me.

I do want to take Tank, Lester, and Bobby to the mats, but not for the reasons they supposed. I always thought Steph meant as much to them as she does to me, and that they would treat her as a friend and fellow professional in my absence. I'm astounded not only that they viewed her as a burden, but also that they had so little situational awareness that Steph became aware of their sentiments. Stephanie has every right to feel betrayed, and in some ways, so do I. In the Army we are taught _No Man Left Behind_. It's an ethos that goes beyond returning a deceased comrade's remains home. It's about helping each other, above our individual needs, no matter what. Hector, the non-military member of my team, is the only one who is acting that way.

"I didn't completely keep my promise to _Estefania_," Hector confesses. "As you know, my interactions with the street gangs are usually dangerous, and there's always a chance I will be hurt or killed. Lester followed _Estefania_ to her new home and returned when she was away to investigate. He set off one of the sensors I installed, and I responded. I decided to trust Lester, and he has access to _Estefania's_ tracking information should something happen to me."

That makes more sense. I was surprised when the Core Team told me they had no idea where Stephanie lived other than Trenton. In the Rangers, Lester was our team's scout, and I've never seen a better tracker. If Lester doesn't want someone to see him, no one will see him. It's more interesting that Lester didn't share the information with Tank and Bobby, and it speaks to an underlying rift in the leadership team.

"_Angelita_ has kept her promise not to kill herself, but she isn't honoring the spirit of the agreement. She has developed a couple of self-destructive habits over the past year, though I'm not sure she knows I'm aware of many of them. One that constantly worries me is that she steals FTA files meant for Rangeman from the bonds office. Sometimes I don't find out until I find her holed up in her apartment nursing gunshot wounds that grazed the skin, stab wounds, or burn injuries. Sometimes I find out beforehand, and Lester has been useful in playing the Rangeman bad guy and intercepting the skip or protecting her without her knowledge. Something has to change, Ranger. _Mi Angelita _is alive, but," Hector trails off, his mouth set in a grim line.

I let the silence linger between us as the weight of what Hector said and didn't say settles between us.

"_Gracias_, Hector," I say solemnly before standing and heading down to the garage. I take the keys for the Porsche 911 off the rack and walk over to the sleek machine. It's time to let the Burg at large, and hopefully, Stephanie, know I am back. It may draw her out without me coming to her. I also do some of my best thinking while I drive, and I need to process everything.

Lester steps out from between a row of fleet vehicles and pulls the rings for an older, dark grey Ford Escape we use for surveillance off a hook and hands them to me before wordlessly walking to the passenger side and getting in. I return the Porsche keys to the hook and follow Lester's lead.

Lester finishes a series of texts on his phone before putting the device back into his pocket and indicating where I should turn upon exiting the garage. "Hector scrambled our tracking devices as well as the tracking devices in this vehicle," he reports. "I'm going to show you where Beautiful lives."

"Why don't Tank and Bobby know?" I ask, heading south.

Lester turns and stares out the window a long moment. "This last year has been the worst of my life, Ranger," he finally says heavily. "I've wished more than a thousand times to go back and do things differently, but of course I can't turn back time. When you left, Tank took being number one at Rangeman seriously. He expects more military formality from the guys, and he held himself apart from everyone the more he became consumed with the day to day work of leading the office. All of us are straight-forward guys, but the office has become a meticulously insufferable place to work, and we've lost a couple of members of our team, including Cal and Zero, as transfers to other offices. I made that paperwork happen on the hopes that I could convince them to come back eventually, but Tank wanted to fire them. Morale is low. I didn't realize until Steph and you were gone just how much joy you both bring to everyone. You're an inspiring leader, and Beautiful's light helped all of us fight off our darkness.

"You've seen what can happen to guys who become too absorbed in the job. They become crass or detached from the horrors of it as a shield, but it eats away at their humanity. That's why I didn't tell Tank," Lester states, and I can hear the depression in his voice.

"Bobby, well, I think Bobby didn't want to rock the boat, so he stayed in his lane. He's oblivious, but I think it's by choice. His attitude is a 'that's that person's problem, not mine' outlook on things, and Bobby refuses to 'take sides,' as he calls it. I hope that he started to realize this morning that by doing nothing, he was still taking a side," Lester says bitterly, clenching his fists.

Lester has always been the most emotional of all of us, and his ebullience and energy are a balancing positive in our group. I often consider Lester's mood to be a unit litmus test, and if he is this depressed, it means morale is worse than low. We may be a company comprised of many former military members, but now we are civilians. The company won't survive long-term if leadership treats the employees like they are in boot camp. If they wanted that, they would have stayed in the military.

"Beautiful," Lester starts to say, pausing to look out the window again. "Farro was awful. The crime scene was bloody, and it was clear they had struggled. Steph wasn't herself, but other than the short conversation we had at the scene, I never got another chance to talk to her. I wasn't in the ambulance when she snapped, but I could hear it. Her screams keep me awake some nights," Lester says before pursing his lips.

"Remember our first time in Iraq, Ranger, before we joined spec ops? Back when we were still young and naïve about war? Remember our first kills, and how some members of the battalion lost it? I swear to God, Steph looked like we did after that battle, but I didn't put it together until later. It didn't occur to me at the scene because Steph is a civilian who has gotten into scraps countless times, even killed before, and she always bounced back. The difference is, we had each other, and we had the backing of a team that reminded us we did the right thing.

"Further, our kills were at a distance. We never engaged in close quarters combat until we joined an established Ranger unit. That experience is something that hardened both of us. Steph went through the same Goddamn thing, but she had nobody. I tried dozens of times to get Steph to talk to me, but she refuses, sometimes forcibly. I couldn't figure out what made her push us away, but if she heard our conversation that morning…" Lester trails off, and I can feel the guilt pouring off of him.

"We were all exhausted. I had been awake for nearly 36 hours, half of that worried for Steph. I didn't mean what I said. I don't care if you take me to the mats. Hell, half the time I bait you so you will, just because I enjoy the challenge, but Steph doesn't know that. Anything I said was because I love her, and I was scared and stressed about her welfare after she lost it at the crime scene. I feel like I failed her and you, the two most important people in my life," Lester brokenly says as he begins to cry fitfully, covering his face with closed fists as he fights the emotional overload.

Lester had long forgotten to give me directions, and I had been driving random streets through Franklin Park. As Lester fights tears, I park in an alley and place a hand on his shoulder. Lester reaches across the console and pulls me into a desperate embrace as he works to collect himself, and I have to fight to tamp down my emotions.

"I'm sorry, Carlos," he gasps out, trying desperately to collect himself. "I'm glad you're back and that you completed your contractual obligations. Nothing has been right since you left. I've done everything I can to try to save Steph and keep Rangeman upright, but it isn't enough. I'm sorry."

"I forgive you, Lester," I say, knowing he needs to hear the words. "I understand, and I know you tried. You haven't failed Steph, and you haven't failed me. We'll work together to fix this." I pat Lester firmly on the back, and he takes a deep breath before sitting back in his seat, wiping his eyes, and presenting a stoic front once again. The emotional break took only two minutes, but the exchange will stay with me a lifetime.

When I'm sure Lester has pulled himself together, I drive through the alley and back on the main thoroughfare. "Your connection with Beautiful is as strong as ever," Lester states. "We're a block from her place." Lester points to where I should park to remain outside of her security cameras, and I observe the property from inside the vehicle.

Steph was smart to leave the Burg if she wanted to hide. While this place appears to be infinitely safer than her last apartment, it's only a step above shithole. I'm having a hard time picturing Stephanie living here, and I hate that she chose these conditions instead of a Rangeman apartment.

Lester points out the cameras and describes what safety measures he knows Steph has taken. "I haven't been inside. I was about to enter the property when Hector arrived and pulled me back, and I haven't tried again. He impressed upon me that if Steph were to suspect anyone from Rangeman had been here, he would lose any rapport he had developed with her. I decided to trust him, and we've been working together to keep Steph as safe as possible since."

After another minute, I pull away and begin to drive back to Haywood.

"Ranger, I know it's not my place, but please, don't do that bullshit where you sleep with Steph but keep her at arm's length. I've followed Beautiful as she roams the bars at night. I didn't want to tip my hand in front of Tank and Bobby, but," Lester begins hesitantly before trailing off again. "She's acting like me when I was at my darkest. I suspect she's using sex as a form of punishment at worst or numbing at best. Know that, and don't hold it against her if you decide to move beyond friendship someday. I don't even know if Steph will allow herself to connect and feel that way, but if she does, it's a bigger deal than you think. If she does throw herself at you physically, be careful how you proceed, or you might be feeding into her negative behavior unwittingly, and that could torpedo any chance you have of getting through to her."

I remember all too well Lester at his worst, and it breaks my heart to imagine Steph, with her big heart, doing the same. I'm reaching the point where I can't keep listening to everyone else's descriptions of her. I need to see my Babe.

For the second time today, I make a promise to do the right thing by Stephanie. I don't care what people think about me, but it does make me wonder how much others know about our relationship. I'm getting the sense I've been judged and found wanting. "I'll be careful, Lester. I won't rush anything, and my priority is to Steph and being her friend. If we ever have a future together after all of this, I will be all in, body, mind, and soul. I'm not going to push her away anymore," I say firmly, and Lester looks relieved.

I park inside the Rangeman garage and kill the engine. "Thank you, Lester, for everything," I say before exiting the vehicle, and Lester looks away. I walk over to the key rack to exchange rings, and as Lester walks towards the stairwell, bark, "Santos!" Lester pauses and turns to look at me curiously. "Mats. 0500," I command, and Lester smiles broadly in response and gives me a mock salute while clicking his heels together. Smartass.

I drive the 911 out of the garage with the explicit purpose of not returning until I see my Babe with my own eyes. I use the onboard communications suite to dial Steph's number. It goes directly to voicemail. "Babe," I say, hoping the normalcy of the message is enough to get her to call me back.

I begin driving the Burg in hopes that unexplainable force that draws me to her works now. I circle in a grid pattern for an hour before driving south into Franklin Park again. I enter my zone as I drive, processing the morning.

Since the implosion of my marriage with Rachel, I vowed never to put my heart through that again. I determined that military life, including my government contract, and a relationship do not mix. I was content to make my work my life, and I occasionally sought out a one-night stand if I needed something physical. That all worked for me until I met Stephanie. She turned my life upside down from the beginning. I thought that if I could sleep with her once, it would be enough. Leaving her bed the next morning and encouraging her to return to Morelli was one of the hardest things I ever did, and I volunteered for my next mission, leaving a couple of days later.

I knew I loved Stephanie, at least in some way, before Scrog, but I wasn't willing to acknowledge the pull my heart had toward hers. After Step volunteered to risk her life to save my daughter, I knew there was no going back. Her selfless actions gave me a relationship with my daughter again, and my heart was never the same. I began speaking with Julie, whether through text, calls, or email daily, and I shouldn't have been surprised to learn Steph was doing the same. Julie confided in me that Steph made her feel loved, accepted and that she listened to her fears and misgivings after struggling with the guilt of hurting Scrog, even though he intended to hurt her. Julie said that without my Babe's understanding, she didn't think she would be doing as well as she was.

I feel a clenching in my chest at the memory. Stephanie saved my daughter from emotional trauma, but when she needed someone to tell her she wasn't evil but did the right thing, my men, the people she trusted and leaned on the most, rejected her. I will do everything I can to right this grave wrong.

I knew I wanted to have a chance at a relationship with Stephanie, and I resigned my contact with the government. I thought there would be another mission as a departure gift, but when I received orders for a year, I was incensed. I had been in the process of negotiating an addendum to the contract where I would serve as a consultant or in a training capacity from time to time, but I yanked it immediately. The mission they sent me on was tedious; I was overqualified for it, and it felt like a slap in the face from the government I devoted so much of my life to assisting. It gave me a harsh perspective on the kinds of relationships I do want to have, and Stephanie is first and foremost. I prayed I would still have a chance with her upon my return.

I pull into the lot overlooking the lake at Roebling Park. I absentmindedly rub the back of my neck and look to my right. Parked two spaces over is a Honda CR-V. I walk around and rap the window lightly as Steph rubs her neck. Her blue eyes flash up to meet mine, and in the split second before she slams down the same blank face I saw in the video, I only see hope. With a jolt, I realize it's the same hope I saw in every alleyway rendezvous, before I would leave her bed after a night of lovemaking, and when I impulsively kissed her before I left for my last mission. I know with certainty that my Babe is still with me, and that, while the road ahead may be difficult, we will be okay in the end.

I tap on the window and smile a thousand-watt smile at the most wonderful sight I've ever seen. Yes, my Babe's alive. Stephanie rolls down the window and looks at me hesitantly. "Babe," I say, and I pause, not wanting to rush the moment.

Steph drops her phone onto her lap as her eyes widen. "You're back," she says weakly, and I continue to smile. It seems I still have the same effect on her as I always did.

"May I come in, or would you like to go for a walk together?" I ask, and Steph seems to weigh her options.

"Walk," she says finally, closing the window and locking the door behind her. I desperately want to crush her against me and kiss her senseless, but I remember Lester and Hector's warnings about respecting Steph's personal space, and I decide to exercise restraint.

The walk towards the lake is slow and quiet, and it gives me a chance to look Stephanie over more closely. She's lost weight, but she also looks leaner. Steph has been working out, and it looks good on her. Her wardrobe is black and practical but also shows a more hardened side. I see a glint of silver from the small of her back, and I wonder how many weapons she has concealed on her person. The sunlight reflects off the stud in her nose, and as I study her in my periphery, I see a couple of new scars on her neck and under the cuff of her jacket.

Steph is wearing dark eyeliner on the top and bottom lids with an abundance of mascara. I recall that Steph once that she told me she wears make-up like an armor, and that she layers her mascara based on how much courage she needed. I laughed it off at the time, but looking at her now, it seems to me like she is running out of courage. Her hair is much shorter, shorn close on the left but parted to the right side with a longer piece hanging to her chin. I can see how it must be easier and more practical, but I miss her wild curls.

Stephanie looks different, but I only see the changes as a means of self-defense. She is still very much herself, and she looks as beautiful to me as she always does.

We reach a secluded bench near the water's edge, and I indicate we should sit down. Steph sits stiffly beside me, coughing as she does, and places her hands in her lap. I sit beside her. "How are you, Babe?" I say softly, wondering how much she will open up to me.

Steph sighs and looks beyond the water. "It's good to see you, Ranger," she eventually says.

"It's good to see you, too, Babe," I say in the same tone, my eyes never leaving her. I watch as a sadness settles over Steph. "I thought about you every day I was gone, and imagining this moment kept me going," I confess, and Steph turns to look at me. The blank face remains, but I can see the emotional conflict swirling in her eyes.

"I'm back, and I'm not going anywhere. That mission was my last. I can see something happened while I was gone. When I was FTA, you are the only one who called to ask me how I was doing. You never questioned if I was guilty, and you never cared about what I've done so much as who I am. I know who you are, Babe, and _you_ are the best person I know. When you're ready, no matter when or where, I want to listen, and I'm here for you," I say gently, not wanting to scare her away.

Steph sits there a long minute stoically, clutching her hands together tightly. "I'm not who you think I am," she whispers, and something deep in me breaks at the despair in her voice.

"Will you tell me about it?" I ask quietly, placing my hand on the bench next to her body. Steph sits there as still as stone. I think she wants to tell me, but she doesn't know how to overcome her fear of rejection. After several minutes, an idea comes to me.

"Later," I say. "How about I tell you about some of the things that have happened to me?" I offer.

Stephanie looks at me sideways and nods her head yes, a cough choking out her words. I made a good choice. Maybe I can show her my unconditional acceptance by normalizing some of her experiences.

"I was a rebellious and immature teenager. I grew up the middle child of four sisters. My father was the worst of every Hispanic stereotype, and he ruled the home with an iron fist. If my family didn't ignore me, they beat me down; sometimes physically. However, I always thought the verbal abuse was worse. I sought out gang life as a reprieve to my home life. I didn't make it very far up the ranks before I got busted for stealing a car. I was fifteen. My father washed his hands of me and sent me to Miami to live with my Abuela Rosa. She worked hard to break down my walls and to love me when I was very unlovable. She gave me firm boundaries, but she treated me with love and respect, and I began to see that home didn't have to be like the one I knew.

"With her investment in my success, I began to want to do better, and I started taking AP and community college classes in my high school. I also joined the Junior Army ROTC unit, and that's where I met Tank. He graduated a year ahead of me and attended Florida Tech, graduating in three years. As you know, I went to Rutgers, and with the credits I had already had, earned my degree in two years. Lester, who is two years older than me and technically the old man of the group, Tank and I walked into the Army Officer recruiters office the next day.

"It was 2003, and the country was at war. We wanted to do our part to serve our country, and I think part of me imagined battle as a noble endeavor that would change us from boys to men. It did, but not in the way I expected. Our first deployment was to Iraq. We were assigned convoy protection duty. The enemy shot at us daily, and fortunately, the insurgents were not good shots. One day, an IED struck the Humvee ahead of us. I took cover and shot several insurgents that were waiting to ambush us. I saw my Sergeant laying behind the half-open door of the damaged Humvee, and I fought my way to him. I attempted to provide field aid, but he died in my arms. As my Sergeant's squad leader, I felt responsible for his death, and I poured over every detail of the mission, wondering what I could have done to prevent it. It was also the first time I was confident one of my bullets killed another person, and I felt consumed with guilt, despite the situation. The Major in charge of my squad noticed, and he pulled me aside.

"He ordered me to go through the after-action report with him line by line. 'Lieutenant Manoso,' he said afterward. 'Fall back on your training. What you did was morally just, and I think deep down you know this. It's hard to accept that you are responsible for ending a life, but that doesn't mean you were wrong. You engaged an enemy combatant. You followed the mission orders, and your team is well-trained. No one saw the IED. We can't prevent every casualty. The actions you took to eliminate the enemy may have saved one of our lives. War is hell, and killing someone or watching someone die will never be easy. You did the right thing. I'm proud of you, and your country is proud of you. There is an opportunity here for this to make you stronger or to break you. I believe you will become stronger,'" I say evenly, pausing to let my memories catch up with my mouth.

I glance at Steph, and I see I have her complete attention, even if she isn't moving or saying anything.

"I believe the same ethos is true for law enforcement and those who work to support law enforcement, such as us. Unfortunately, we have had to make the difficult choice to kill or be killed, whether it is ourselves or a bystander nearby. Self-defense is a morally just action, even if the other person dies," I say emphatically. I decide to leave the conversation there. I feel that is enough for Stephanie to chew on for now. I lean back on the bench and cross one leg over the opposing knee, keeping my hand mere millimeters away from Steph's thigh, and stare out at the lake.

Stephanie's posture remains tense, but she stays with me. We sit together in quiet companionship for an hour before she speaks again. "I want to trust you, Ranger, but I don't know if I can. You're right; things have happened while you were away. I found out a lot of people weren't who I thought, including myself," she says despondently. Steph sits back and turns her body slightly towards mine, coughing as she does. That's progress.

"Why are you telling me this? And why now? What do you want from me, Ranger?" she questions rapidly with an air of desperation, and I can tell her emotional detachment is crumbling. I know this action can be good, but it can also be bad if she panics and flees.

"You're my best friend, Babe. This last deployment gave me the opportunity to realize I've placed too much of my self-worth in my work and not my relationships with people. The job will never give back to me what I put into it. You and Julie, specifically, mean the world to me, and I hated not being able to talk to you and share my life with you while I was away. What do I want from you? Nothing except the chance to continue being your friend," I say sincerely, though my heart is beating faster.

"I'm not who you think I am, Ranger," Steph whispers, repeating herself.

"Babe, I know about some of what happened with Farro. I know that Tank, Lester, and Bobby said some things they now regret when you were recovering afterward. I know some of what was said, and I don't agree with any of it. I know that you have taken a more aggressive approach to your security and bounty hunting approach," I say gently, wanting my tone to temper my words. I want to eliminate some of Steph's barriers and see where I stand. She widens her eyes and freezes in place, evaluating me.

"I know that you are hurting but that you are a good person, Babe," I say as compassionately as possible, hoping the words find a way into her barricaded heart.

Steph stands suddenly and takes a step forward. _Shit_, I pushed her too far. I attempt to remain relaxed so as not to frighten her, but internally, I'm on edge. "Can you meet me here tomorrow?" she asks tentatively.

"Yes," I say in relief before Steph walks away without a second glance. It's progress.

* * *

**A/N:** I'm so grateful for your feedback, support, and reflections. I probably check for comments after I post a chapter hourly. I get very excited to hear what you guys think, and sometimes it's hard for me not to post the entire story at once.

I've got good news and bad news. The good news is that _Warrior_ has hijacked my muse, and I'm at 14 chapters and counting. I think at this point I'll still wrap it up in under 20. The bad news is that it means that although _Lift Off_ is outlined, I haven't started it. I apologize to anyone who was looking forward to reading it in the next two weeks, and I hope you'll continue to enjoy this story with weekly to bi-weekly (let me hear from you!) updates until I'm ready to begin posting that story.

Misty23y does an amazing job as my beta. I was so absorbed in writing _Warrior _this past week, I forgot to do things like editing, chapter breaks, and outline management. She turned over twenty-five pages for me in an evening. Wow – thanks, Babe! I also thoroughly enjoy her writing. She's blown me away with the twists and turns in _Too Late_ and _The Night That Changed Everything_. I hope you check it out.


	6. Chapter 6

**Disclaimer:** Anything recognizable belongs to Janet Evanovich, and the rest is mine. I'm grateful she lets us play.

**Warning:** Dark fic. Adult language, adult content, violence, smut. This is written for mature audiences only.

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**Chapter 6**

**Hector's POV**

I pull into the attached garage of my home, a two-story brick structure with an A-line roof and ivy growing on the side of the chimney in Princeton. I imagine most of my co-workers think I live in a trash can or a survival bunker, and I'm all too happy to encourage that misconception. This home is my sanctuary. It is painted in airy tones with medium wood trim and wood floors, but my favorite part is that the back half of the house has large sliding doors that open to the woods beyond.

I hang my keys on a hook near the door, place my gun and knives on a side table, and my shoes beside it before strolling into the adjacent kitchen.

"_Hola_, Hector," Jose says, looking up from dinner prep with a smile. He sets aside his mixing and greets me halfway with a kiss. Jose Lopez is my fiancé and the best thing to happen me but never would have without _Estefania's _influence.

"_Hola_, Jose," I respond, returning the kiss before pulling a beer out of the fridge and picking up a knife to assist with the chopping. Jose understands I need a moment to reacclimate to our home environment before we start talking about our days, and I appreciate his patience.

I toss a green salad, and Jose finishes preparing a spiced chicken breast with mango salsa, and we take our plates to the dining room table that overlooks the woods. I return to the kitchen to pour a glass of white wine for Jose and set it at his place. He raises the rim of his drink, and I tap it with the neck of my beer bottle with a small smile.

"Ranger's back," I say quietly after taking a small sip, and Jose's eyebrows shoot up as he slowly lowers his glass to the table. "I told him about what I have been doing to protect _Estefania_ and Lester's involvement. He assured me that he intended to be committed to her, no matter what. I hope that's true," I say heavily. Jose reaches across the table and puts his hand over mine.

"I know you're worried, but keep the faith," he says gently. "The past eight months have been difficult, but from everything you've told me, Ranger loves Stephanie. He'll do the right thing."

I nod in agreement and take a bite of my salad. While I've kept my life with Jose and work life separate, I often speak candidly to him about the people I spend my day with. The only two people I trust as much as Jose are Ranger and _mi Angelita_, and Jose and I have no secrets from each other.

Jose begins telling me about his research and the difficulty he is having finding a new Teacher's Assistant to replace Monica. Jose is a third generation Mexican American who received his undergrad at Berkley, and his Master's and Ph.D. at Stanford before becoming a Professor of Latin Studies at Princeton. For all appearances, we are opposites, down to his slighter darker skin, taller, more slender build, and thick, dark hair that's always neatly styled, and preppy wardrobe, but we complement each other, and our relationship has given my life a sense of peace and contentment I never thought I would find.

Jose is academically brilliant but grew up relatively sheltered. I first met Jose on State Street. He was conducting field research on Puerto Rican and Guatemalan immigrants and how they are changing the city. Unfortunately, or fortunately, in my case, he came alone, unarmed, and found his car stolen within ten minutes of his arrival. I observed Jose unseen, and when I reached my car to leave, I found I couldn't. I introduced myself, gave him a ride home, and told him to call me if he went back so that I could offer my protection. I returned to State Street, persuaded the would-be car thieves to give me the vehicle, and left it outside Jose's apartment. He called me, insisted on a drink as a thank you, and we started dating that week. That was a little more than a year ago.

I help Jose clean-up after dinner, and we settle onto the couch to watch a documentary on Dreamers. I rest my head on Jose's shoulder as he puts his arm around me, and my mind drifts back to _Estefania. _I first met her about two and a half years ago when Ranger called me to install a security device at her apartment. It was a hopeless endeavor, and I returned several times before uninstalling it. My favorite was when her remote didn't work. We both ignored the bullet hole and pretended it was a manufacturer's defect. I still have the remote in my desk drawer.

After that, she kept finding reasons to bump into me. At first, I wondered if _Estefania _was tracking me, but then I realized I was subconsciously putting myself in a position to be found.

I moved to America from Guatemala when I was eleven years old and _mi_ _hermana_, Rosalina, was nine. My parents saved every penny they had to send us to _Tia _Maria. Our farewell at the airport was the last I ever saw them. They were killed by rebels near the end of the Guatemalan Civil War three months later.

_Tia _Maria was in her late sixties when we came to live with her in Trenton. She did her best to care for us, but I quickly assumed the responsibilities of the man of the household, and it was clear I needed to provide additional income to support Rosalina and myself. I dropped out of high school at the beginning of eleventh grade to work at an electronics store, but when my _Tia _Maria found out, she was furious. We reached a compromise, and I tested out with my GED and enrolled in a community college the next month.

While no longer being tied to the rigid schedule of a high school student freed up my time for employment and college classes, it also meant I saw Rosalina less. She struggled more with the loss of _mama_ and _papa_ than I did, especially as a teenager, and she compensated by developing a strong circle of friends. I didn't realize the nature of her friendships until I caught her climbing in through the window one night, high as a kite.

I started to follow Rosalina, and I soon realized she was heavily involved in a local Dominican gang and dating the leader's brother, Diego. In exchange for sex, he gave her drugs, alcohol, and a reputation. I remained on the periphery of the gang, but privately, I tried to pressure Rosalina to change her ways.

Things came to a head a Tuesday night in May. Rosalina's school called saying she complained of being ill, and when I went to pick her up, she had already left. I looked for hours, but I couldn't find her. By sunset, I started walking the streets I knew Diego's gang claimed as their territory. At midnight my _Tia_ Maria called me frantic that she thought someone was trying to break into the house. I raced home. Even then, I had begun to develop proficiency with knives, and I carefully patrolled around my home.

When I reached the end of the narrow side yard to turn towards the backdoor, I stumbled as I tripped over an unexpected form. Turning back, I knelt in cold horror at the body of my little sister. I called 911 immediately, but I knew it was too late. The autopsy later determined the cause of death was due to excessive blood loss from a poorly executed abortion, and that there were cocaine and alcohol in her system. We concluded she passed out trying to sneak into the house. _Mi Tia _Maria took the loss as a personal failing to a promise she made to her sister, and she died of heart disease six months later.

When she died, my sole purpose in life became revenge against Diego, and I vowed to destroy everything he held valued. I joined a rival Latino gang, and I soon earned a name with my knife work and sophisticated electronics skills. I created several devices that enabled us to steal cars faster as well as monitor our borders more efficiently, and I rose in prominence quickly. Slowly, we began to take over the Dominican territory, and I knew a turf war was imminent. I organized a deal with a larger gang that, if they supported us against the Dominicans, we would merge our territory with theirs as long as our leaders retained their positions.

None of us wanted to draw too much attention from the TPD, and we planned our strike carefully. Winter can make people hole up and become predictable. We used this to our advantage, and when Diego, his brother Mateo, and three other key members of the gang were gathered one January night at a garage, we surrounded the facility and overwhelmed their defenses in seconds. I walked inside, and with the amount of hate I had built up inside for Diego over the past year, I had no reservations about killing him. The experience gave me an emotional high, and I used my knives to send a message that follows me to this day. Diego's death was slow and merciless, and his cries fed into my sense of power. The leader of my gang, Manuel, executed Mateo once I finished with Diego. We gave the rest of the Dominican gang an option. Join us or join Mateo and Diego. There was no more bloodshed that day, and a period of relative peace ensued on the streets afterward.

It wasn't until I returned to my now empty home and stood in my sister's bedroom did the full weight of what I had done come to rest on my heart, and the pain was excruciating. I thought revenge would take away the pain of Rosalina and _Tia_ Maria's deaths, but instead, I felt nothing but remorse. That remorse was debilitating to the point that I couldn't mourn the deaths of Rosalina or _Tia_ Maria, and the only way I found myself surviving was to close off my emotions entirely.

I gave myself the teardrop tattoo as a symbolic reminder of the tears I was unable to shed, the person I had become, and the person I didn't want to be. It also served to increase my reputation within my gang and rival gangs to the point I became nearly untouchable, and I withdrew further into my studies and work in computers and electronics.

It was around that time Rangeman hung their shingle in Trenton and started shaking things up. Ranger came into town with a splash, and guys that once considered themselves unrivaled and the courts at their leisure suddenly found themselves in jail. I listened to the rumblings as the gangs began to discuss eliminating Ranger and his men in black. I had no desire to be drawn into a gang war.

Further, while I knew I was gay, the members of my gang did not. I suspected that should my sexuality become public; life would be much harder for me. There were already rumors surrounding my supposed celibacy, and I knew it was only a matter of time before my killing of Diego became history and that I would need to prove myself again. I decided to take a chance.

I met Ranger on the eve of a multi-gang consortium. He met me alone at a playground near Mercer Lake, an area outside both of our jurisdictions, as it were. I could tell immediately he was a good man, and I suspected he knew more about me than he let on. He explained his desire to keep violence to a minimum, and that he would be willing to scale back the tactics his teams used if the gangs were willing to respect him and his men and keep their rivalries away from civilians. Then, he offered me a job as the Head of Information Security at Rangeman. The two conditions were that I arrange for him to have a table at the meeting between the gang leaders the next day and that I go to counseling.

I expected the first condition, but the second one took me by complete surprise, and I am not a man often surprised. Ranger told me that he understood both killing and loss and that he was concerned I was going through it alone. He stated that he didn't judge me and if in the same situation, he would likely do the same thing. Ranger further said that by taking Diego's life, I secured a period of peace between the gangs that probably saved dozens of lives. Ranger then told me he was proud of me, and I knew I would follow the man to the ends of the earth.

The meeting was successful, Rangeman thrived, I was able to secure a new role as a liaison and peacekeeper between the gangs and Rangeman, and I enjoyed my new job in Information Security. I went to counseling once a month as required, but because I didn't want to be there, it wasn't very productive. Then I met _Mi Angelita._

I understand and speak English much better than I let on, and because I'm an introvert by nature, I'm fine letting people assume I only _Habla Español_. I didn't fool _Estefania_, and she eventually bargained that she would keep my secret if I would teach her Spanish. Being feared by people was my norm so that the idea this spitfire of a woman would dare to make a deal with me was ridiculous, and I couldn't help but agree. We regularly met at least once a week after that and became each other's confidants. _Estefania_ never pried, but slowly over time, she gleaned the entire story from me. Like with Ranger, I never felt judged, and more importantly, I never felt as though I disappointed her. (Speak Spanish)

_Mi Angelita _noticed when I became withdrawn as Spring approached. She went out of her way to check in on me and encourage me. It was the twentieth anniversary of Rosalina's death, and I began to feel the loss in a way I hadn't since before I killed Diego. My thoughts were becoming increasingly dark, and I started to plan my suicide. I still don't know how _Estefania _figured it out, but on the date of Rosalina's death, she came to Rangeman, picked me up, and drove me to the cemetery. There, she placed a dozen pink roses on Rosalina's grave, knelt in silent prayer, and turned to hug me.

"I'm so sorry for your loss, Hector," she said as tears rimmed her eyes, and I broke. I cried for the first time in almost thirty years, leaning into her small frame with racking sobs. A lifetime of pain and loss poured out of me. I mourned my parents and my shortened childhood. I mourned_ mi_ _Hermana_ and the baby she carried to heaven with her. I mourned _mi Tia_ and her broken heart. I even grieved the man I killed, and the innocence I lost that day. _Mi Angelita _held me as I sunk to my knees in the wet grass and her unconditional love and acceptance gave me the courage that I needed to be amongst the living again.

I began going to counseling once a week, and I finally understood Ranger's first words to me. I rationalized and accepted Diego's death and my integral role in it, and I no longer felt the paralyzing blame.

It was around that time I began to hear rumblings from newer gang initiates that they wanted to make a name by taking down Ranger and Ranger's woman, as the streets know _Estefania_. The rumors grew the most among the younger generation that wanted to rise in ranks but didn't respect the balance of power. I began to rove the streets more, hoping my physical presence would inspire the same reproach it once did. The teenagers were disrespectful towards me and dismissed the current leadership as being old and out of touch. The snowball was quickly becoming an avalanche.

I had no desire to kill anyone again, but I now understood that sometimes to do so is the best choice I can make. If faced with a decision between Ranger or _mi Angelita's_ lives or standing by and watching them die, it was a choice I could easily make and sleep well over. I respected the fragility of life, and from that position of strength, I knew I could do the right thing.

Walking one evening, I happened across a meeting between the newest gang initiates. I snuck into the shadows, and what I heard chilled me. The consensus was that whoever killed Ranger and _Estefania _would be the one who would lead them into the future. I notified Rangeman to increase their security and kept a steady presence on the streets gaining intelligence.

Most of the boys proved to be hot heads with big mouths who were quickly reined in by their leadership, but one wouldn't let go of the idea. I placed a tracker on Isaac's vehicle and worked day and night to monitor his movements. I earned my second teardrop the night I pulled him off of _Estefania's _fire escape. I killed him quickly but replicated the artistic brutality of my knives on his person before dumping the body at the upstarts' original meeting location. There have been no threats to Ranger's or _Mi Angelia's_ lives since by the gangs, and using the tools I learned from Ranger, _Estefania, _counseling, and time, I was able to accept what I had done and move forward quickly. Ranger knew, of course, what my second teardrop meant, and that was the first time he thanked me. Today was the second.

It was at this point in my life, feeling confident and assured, that I met Jose. I know he is the love of my life, and I know I wouldn't have this joy without Ranger or _mi Angelita's _influence on it.

Jose and I began dating a month before Ranger's departure, and we moved into together after three months of dating. It was the most impulsive thing I've ever done, and I haven't had even a second of regret. We are renting this house with an option to buy. _Estefania_ is the only person from Rangeman who knows where I live, but she has never been here. I wired the house to be remotely monitored by Rangeman, but only if an alarm is triggered or I push a panic button. Otherwise, it exists invisibly within the system.

_Mi Angelita_ is also the only person who has met Jose, but I'm not sure she knows it. It was a month before the Farro disaster. I knew she was depressed Ranger was gone, and I think she suspected that Morelli was cheating on her, but she hadn't found the courage yet to confront him. I invited her to have a drink with me at a bar in Lawrenceville. When she asked why Lawrenceville, I said it was because I liked having a beer without knowing everyone in town is getting an update about it like the Burg. She laughed and agreed. The real reason was that the bar was the halfway point for Jose and me after work.

One thing that makes Jose and I work is that he doesn't pressure me. He understands that my life has many stressors and that I often retreat into silence to deal with them. He valued that by meeting _Estafania_, even indirectly, I was inviting him into my life. Jose respects me, and that evening was when we decided to move in together.

I was offsite when the Farro takedown happened, and by the time I heard what had happened and made it to the hospital, _Estefania _was unconscious, and the doctors were treating her. I waited in the Emergency Room all night, sitting off to the side. Lester joined me off and on, giving me updates on her condition. Of the Core Team, Lester is the only one I get along with aside from Ranger. I think Tank is an asshole who chooses to treat people like things instead of human beings. The only reason I'm still working for Rangeman after the past ten months of his _leadership_ is out of loyalty to Ranger and _Estefania. _Bobby and I have very little cause to interact, and he strikes me as someone who chooses the path of least resistance, even if it isn't the right thing to do.

I stayed in my Rangeman apartment after _Estefania _returned back to Haywood, and I asked Lester to notify me when she woke up. He did, but it was also to tell me she left. I could hear the confusion and exhaustion in his voice, and my instincts told me there was something else going on. I monitored her movements in my office, and my concern rose when her trackers started going all over town. When the one belonging to Rex remained stationary at a residential address, I took a chance and went to see her.

The pain in her eyes is something that keeps me awake at night. It's still there, only now she sometimes masks it with rage, sadness, and emptiness. I knew then that she needed me, and when she is ready to process everything, I will be there for her as she was for me.

I also remembered how dark my life became before I was ready to move on, and I desperately want to keep _Estefania_ away from that level of despair. That's why I made her promise not to attempt to kill herself. I'm not sure that I have succeeded. Sure, she isn't dead, but she has worked damn hard at dampening her essential spark.

I attempted to encourage _mi Angelita_ into counseling several times, but in each instance, I was met with a furious backlash. I've become afraid to pressure her more lest she cut me out of her life as she has everyone else. As far as I know, I'm the only person she has regular contact with, and that puts me in a unique position to help her. I'm not sure I can survive losing _Estefania_ as I lost _mi Hermana_, and so I backed off. I'm not always sure I'm doing the right thing, and she has been a constant worry.

Lester has proven an unexpected ally, and I'm not sure _Estefania _would be as physically intact as she is without him. When I received the notification that someone tripped the sensor for _Estefania's_ door, I arrived at the apartment within minutes. I was livid Lester was attempting to violate her privacy, and I was even more concerned she would think I had something to do with it. I didn't have a lot of time to get Lester offsite before _Estefania _was due to arrive home, but the look on my face convinced him to go along with me.

I drove us to an abandoned gas station, expecting a bunch of yelling, demanding, and power plays. Instead, Lester turned to me with his hands at his sides, shoulders drooped, and said, "How is she, Hector? Is she safe? Is she recovering? Please, tell me." The despondency in his voice caused me to reconsider the role he might have played in her feeling that Rangeman betrayed her, but I wasn't willing to trust him yet.

"_Estefania_ is safe. I am taking care of her," I replied steely. "Keep your distance. She doesn't trust you or anyone at Rangeman."

Lester sat a long minute silently. "Okay, Hector. You're in charge, and I won't tell anyone where Beautiful lives," he said before turning to look at me with an expression of concern. "I don't know what happened to make Stephanie mistrust us, but I'm glad she has you. If I can do anything, and I mean anything, to help, I'm at your service."

I didn't take Lester up on his offer immediately, but as the weeks turned to months and _Estefania's _behavior became increasingly risky and erratic, I knew I was in over my head. Lester had kept his word, and I decided to trust him.

I had been sleeping more often at my Rangeman apartment to be nearer to _mi Angelia_ in case something happened at night. Lester and I worked out a schedule for monitoring her movements so that I could have more downtime, something my mental health and relationship with Jose needed. I didn't know _Estefania_ was stealing Rangeman files until after her first gunshot wound.

I became concerned when she hadn't moved from her apartment in two days, and I found her mostly drunk with twenty stitches on her bicep. I stayed with _mi Angelita _until she was sober, and I got her to tell me the name of the skip. I did a search on him at Rangeman and discovered he was wanted for armed robbery and was a repeat violent offender, not the type of FTA _Estefania _was usually assigned. I confronted Lester about it, demanding to know why Rangeman was no longer picking up these skips. He was as surprised as I, and immediately went to the bonds office to get to the bottom of it.

It turns out Vinnie, with Tank's blessing, instructed Connie to turn a blind eye to the files _Estefania_ picks up. In his eyes, finder's keepers, and since _Estefania _charges less than Rangeman does per skip, it's better for Vinnie's bottom line. Connie expressed concern, but she refused to disobey Vinnie's orders. Instead, Lester convinced her to let him know when _Estefania_ picks up a file that might otherwise belong to Rangeman. I became more proactive about finding out what _mi Angelita _was doing on a day to day basis, and between the two of us, we have been able to provide additional security without _Estefania's_ knowledge. If she did suspect anything, Lester used his Rangeman duties as an excuse.

I shift my gaze out the back windows. My favorite place in my home is the stone patio with a firepit built into the far corner. The trees surround me there, and the stars shine a little brighter. It's quiet, and I feel like I can breathe. I was sitting on the bench outside a couple of days after the Sanchez incident. It was the first time I had been home since, and I needed to quietly unwind. Jose sat beside me, his arm around my shoulders much like tonight, and I knew I was home. After all the crap in my life, I had found a man who loved me for me, the good with the bad, and was willing to sit with me through it all. I tilted my head towards him and said, "Marry me?"

I took Jose by surprise, but his face told me his answer before his words could. We purchased rings for each other the next day, and we wear the bands on our right hands with the intention of waiting until our wedding to shift it to the left. I often wear mine on a chain around my neck while I'm working to keep my private life private. Jose's family and friends are thrilled for us, but I'm not ready to share my good news yet. _Estefania _and Ranger are the two people I want to stand with me, but they aren't yet ready to do so.

I want to feel more relieved than I do that Ranger has returned, but the last eight months have tempered my optimism. Even before Farro_, Estefania_ has never talked much about her feelings, but I know she's been hurt by Ranger's past barriers towards a relationship. I've seen that the revolving door of her bedroom has taken a toll on her emotionally and hurt her self-esteem. Yet, through it all, _Estefania_ still listens and responds to Ranger more than any other person. While she has never explicitly stated it, I know she loves Ranger. For lack of a better option, I've settled for preserving _mi Angelita's _life in a holding pattern until Ranger's return. I know in my heart this is a crucial time for _Estefania_, and I hope she chooses to soften her heart. However, if she does and Ranger is careless towards her again, I'm afraid for _mi Angelia_. I don't want to bury another _hermana_. (Sister.)

I feel a kiss on my temple, and it begins to draw me out of my contemplation. I blink several times, and I realize the TV is dark. I missed the entire show. "_Corazón, ¿estás ahí?" _Jose says gently but with a hint of laughter. (Sweetheart, are you there?)

I sigh and turn to look at my lover with a thin smile. "_Besame_," I respond, my eyes boring into mahogany ones, and he pulls me into a warm embrace, his lips locked on mine. I press against him, leaning into the moment and pushing my memories and worries away. As Jose said, I will keep the faith. We stand, never breaking the kiss, and lead each other to the bedroom. (Kiss me.)

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**A/N:** _YOU GUYS ARE SO AMAZING!_ Chapter five of _Warrior _had the highest single day readership AND single day comments of _any_ chapter in _any_ story that I have posted. I was giddy all day seeing those incredible messages, and I am absolutely humbled by everyone who stated my writing had touched them in some way. You brought tears of gratitude to my eyes several times. So, of course, I want to share the love with this bonus chapter! I hope you fell in love with Hector a little more reading this because he is definitely one of my favorite parts of this story.

Moving forward, Misty23y has been an incredible resource to me ironing out my constantly changing outline. Your comments inspire me (so keep posting them!), and then my imagination takes over as I write. She helps me go back and make sure there are enough supported POVs and that the details are straight in previous chapters to justify my latest great idea. I'm so glad I discovered this community and have the privilege to write with her as my wing-woman. Thanks, Babe!


	7. Chapter 7

**Disclaimer:** Anything recognizable belongs to Janet Evanovich, and the rest is mine. I'm grateful she lets us play.

**Warning:** Dark fic. Adult language, adult content, violence, smut. This is written for mature audiences only.

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**Chapter 7**

**Tank's POV**

_Beep, beep. Beep, beep. _I roll over and shut off my 0400 alarm, striding confidently to my bathroom after a short stretch. I put on my PT gear of a t-shirt, utility pants, and boots before picking up my 50-pound pack and walking to my office. I grab a light breakfast and log into my computer, skimming my e-mail.

Being at the helm of Rangeman has been the best year of my life. I was born to lead, but I've never had the chance before now. I felt perpetually stuck as number two, and usually under Ranger. Being number one has given me the opportunity I needed to prove myself and push this company to the brink of greatness. The company was becoming soft under Ranger's leadership, and I blame Stephanie. When Ranger agreed to mentor her, I didn't say anything because she was so incompetent that I didn't think it would talk long for her to quit or be killed. Besides, while she's not my type, who am I to get in the way of a man's next fuck?

Then Ranger started diverting more Rangeman assets to help her. Protection details. Security. Cars and equipment. Men. Ranger spent more and more time assisting her, and that drew him away from his Rangeman responsibilities. Consequently, I picked up the shit work he didn't want to do or didn't have the time to do anymore. I was livid when I learned he created a line of accounting for Stephanie. I don't think any of the shit she pulls is _entertaining._

I was concerned when Stephanie lost it in the ambulance after Farro, but part of me was relieved, because I thought she was getting closer to quitting. When she ghosted the morning after Farro, I knew that she overheard us, but I didn't care. Stephanie has no respect for any Rangeman lives or resources, which has been demonstrated time and again by her refusal to accept training and responsibility. It was time someone told her the hard truths.

When Stephanie emerged from whatever hole she crawled into, I was amused by her change in wardrobe and demeanor, and I saw straight through her immaturity. She's spent the last eight months acting like a typical rebellious teenager who's _misunderstood_ and _mad at the world_.

Connie called me after Steph started stealing Rangeman files from the bonds office. I thought about intervening, but that's the same shit Ranger would pull only to divert time and assets to rescue her when she inevitably fucked it up. If Stephanie wants to play with the big dogs, then she better be able to take the bite. After all, she's the one who walked away from us, so Ranger doesn't have much high ground here. Further, when I noticed how much the atmosphere at Rangeman improved without Stephanie around anymore and with my new policies promoting good order and discipline, I gave Vinnie the encouragement he needed to keep Steph out of my way.

I persisted in attempting to track Stephanie for a couple of reasons. Most importantly, I wanted to know where she was in order to ensure no one from Rangeman was helping her. The other is that I knew Ranger was going to return from his mission with a hard-on about Stephanie, and to cover my ass, I wanted to show him I had tried. That the steady effort to plant trackers increased her paranoia to the point of blowing the damn thing up in front of Rangeman was the cherry on top.

I lean back in my chair and take a sip of my coffee. There's a silver lining to the new Stephanie. Ranger is so wrapped up in saving her, again, that he's already falling behind in running the company. I've proven my abilities and worth this past year, and I don't want to be number two anymore. Perhaps it's time I plant the seed that he needs to take his perpetual damsel in distress and move to Miami to be near Julie. It's time the heads of the other Rangeman branches deal with what I put up with.

My eyes fall on a picture I keep on my desk of Ranger, Lester, and I in full combat gear, about to deploy for a mission. It was taken about twelve years ago, before we left active duty, before New Jersey, and before Stephanie Plum. We were brothers at arms then, and I loved the rigors of that life. We are true warriors, our stripes earned by being the very best counterinsurgency operatives in the country. We are battle-hardened men with the medals to prove it. Stephanie is not a warrior; she's a Little Girl way out of her league.

I shoulder my pack and begin walking to the gym. It's time for me to greet the men of Rangeman, and continue to be their leader, training them to be a warrior like me.

**Ranger's POV**

I clear my breakfast plate on seven before taking the stairs down to the main conference room for the morning meeting. I've missed Ella's cooking. Field chow doesn't come close. Assembled in the conference room is the team, and everyone stands to greet me when I walk in.

"Good morning, Rangemen," I say with a slight smile, taking my spot at the head of the table. I notice several of the men, including Hal, Rodriguez, and Zip, smile as I greet them. When walking the hallways in the office yesterday, I noticed that people generally seemed short-tempered and unhappy. There weren't a lot of smiles, and no one stayed after hours in the breakroom or gym to hang out. I reviewed the list of who was staying in Rangeman apartments and was surprised to see several units are empty. Previously, there was a waiting list, and I was considering options to provide additional housing.

Yesterday I was so focused on determining what was happening with Stephanie that I assumed that the lack of joy I observed was due to everyone missing her. When Steph started working at Rangeman, I noticed an immediate boost in morale and productivity. After my conversation with Lester, I started to look at things with a more critical eye. The rest of my afternoon and evening was spent doing a turnover with Tank, and I plan on taking the reins back by the end of the week. I considered taking the helm of Rangeman back from Tank immediately, but if there are underlying issues in the management of Rangeman, it's better if I wait until I have greater situational awareness of those issues.

Once I officially resume leadership, many of the guys will expect things to be as they once were. If I don't have a good idea of what is wrong to fix it, I may quickly lose their goodwill. Change of command, as the military calls it, is a formal process that can make or break a unit. The new or returning Commanding Officer has only one chance to set their tone and expectations.

"Tank will continue to be in charge until the turnover is complete. I will notify you when that happens," I state, turning control of the meeting over to him. I notice the postures of nearly everyone in the room become rigid, and their faces blank.

"Some of you seem to think that because Ranger is back, you are no longer expected to adhere to working hours," Tank begins sternly, and I lean back in interest. "Nothing has changed. Mandatory PT for anyone not on duty begins at 0500. Those not present this morning owe me double time this evening," he barks before clicking to the first slide of a PowerPoint.

Rangeman doesn't have mandatory physical training. Some employees are expected to meet minimum fitness standards as stipulated in their employment contracts, and we provide equipment and training to help them achieve those standards. We also provide incentives and bonuses for meeting fitness goals and joining in group exercise opportunities. Further, if the workday is beginning earlier, who is manning the desks later in the day, or have our labor expenses increased with overtime? Additionally, there are some Rangemen who left the military due to disability. These team members provide support services and have modified physical standards. If mandatory, military-style physical training is occurring at Rangeman, especially if it isn't stipulated in the employment contracts and working hours amended for non-disabled employees, we are likely in violation of labor and employment laws as well as the American Disabilities Act. I make a mental note to speak with our lawyer.

The meeting breaks, and I ask Tank to meet me in my office to continue the turnover. "I'll be there in an hour or two, Ranger," Tank replies without explanation before walking away, and I raise an eyebrow in response. I decide to let the insubordination go, but my concern regarding his leadership of the company increases.

I go to the breakroom to get a bottle of water and an apple. I'm pleased that Ella is continuing to provide her usual offerings to the men. She is an integral part of the success of this company. Many of my employees grew accustomed to having the military provide them three square meals a day, and they cannot cook more than the basics themselves. I'm confident that many of them would eat fast food three times a day without her. There are others who don't own a personal vehicle, and shopping would be difficult and expensive for those individuals without Ella fulfilling order requests when she does the company shopping. That is a program Ella initiated with unanimous appreciation from my employees, especially those that live here. Ella and I worked together to develop a healthy menu that is manageable for her to prepare, palatable to the men, and reasonably cost-efficient. The food consumed and items purchased are taken out of the employee's living expenses allowance.

I walk upstairs to the workspace she manages with Luis, and I knock on the door of the company kitchen. "Come in, come in," Ella says, waving me forward with a smile, closing the door behind me. That's different. Ella always kept her door open before. She said many of the guys sometimes needed an _Abuela_-like person to talk to, and she considers the men her sons.

"Talk to me, Ella," I say with a sigh. "I know you know everything that happens around here. Why all the empty apartments? Why the empty breakroom? Why the long faces?"

Ella gestures to a small dinette table, and we both sit. "Carlos," she says sadly, patting the top of my hand, "I know Tank is one of your best friends, but he is not fit to lead this company. You only have one to return to because of Lester and the goodwill you've built." I raise my eyebrows and lean back in my seat.

"Tank has implemented mandatory and random housing inspections. He applies military standards to the maintenance of each of the rooms, and all contraband, which is a long list of items, is confiscated. My boys cannot relax in their homes anymore. I'm no longer allowed to purchase food for them after Tank discovered I was buying items now considered prohibited on the premises. He inspects my shopping as a form of further control over what enters the building. No one wants to live here anymore. I visited the guys a couple of times offsite. Several of them are renting apartments together in South Trenton. The cost for them to live in these rundown units is greater than the cost to live here. Many of the men are sleeping on air mattresses, and their diets are worse. Further, with the exercise hours Tank put in place, they have less time to sleep and unwind," she starts, and I'm astounded by Tank's overreach. I'm confident this invasion of privacy isn't legal, and I'm wondering how many laws Rangeman is currently in violation of thanks to Tank.

"I've heard rumors that many of the men are considering seeking employment elsewhere. The only reason you still have half your employees is that Lester convinced them to wait until you returned. Luis and I are still here because we couldn't abandon our boys. You need to act quickly to fix things, Carlos," Ella says in warning.

I'm beginning to wonder how well I know Tank after all, and my anger at his actions is growing by the minute. The conversation shifts to Ella showing me her current menus, which are more dietarily restrictive than before, and we take a tour of a vacant apartment. There, too, things are more spartan. Ella enjoys providing personal touches for the men, but this looks like barracks room down to the grey wool blanket on the bed. "This is what all the apartments, including the ones currently occupied, look like," she says. "No visible personal items are allowed."

"Tell me more about what Tank confiscates," I say heavily.

"Any food not provided by Rangeman or on the short list of acceptable items. The guys are no longer allowed to bring fast food, sweets of any kind, alcohol, you get the idea, into the building. Tank controls everything that happens around here. I ignored his bans at first, but then he started inspecting my purchases. As you know, I would take daily shopping orders from the men and leave the items in their apartments. What they eat is their responsibility, and you generously make healthy choices easier," Ella says with a shrug. "They are grown men who understand the physical standards you expect them to meet. Tank attempts to have his finger in every facet of their lives, and this is an oppressive place to live and work. He runs a tight ship, sure, but he seems to have forgotten we are civilians and people."

I shake my head in astonishment and begin to move towards the door when Ella says with concern, "How is our Stephanie, Carlos? I miss her terribly around here."

I turn and look at the small woman with the heart of a lion before me. "I sat with her for a couple of hours yesterday. We spoke a little, but I'm still getting to the bottom of things," I say evenly. "Do you know anything?"

"This is what I know," Ella starts. "Stephanie is all heart. She loves you, she loves the men at this company, and she would do anything for those she loves. Stephanie brought light into this building, and everyone was better for it. When she left, that was when things started to go downhill. I heard that she killed a man when he was trying to hurt her, and she's been alone since. I noticed Lester and Hector work extra hours, and they are both constantly worried, though they try to hide it. I think they are helping her. Tank began treating this place like a boot camp shortly afterward, saying that everyone was too lax and that they would be able to do their jobs better with his changes. Bobby keeps to himself. He makes sure everyone is good in body, but he overlooks their spirits.

"I also know that Stephanie changed your heart. I'm an old woman, and I've seen a lot of things. I know you love her. Be brave, Carlos, and bring our Stephanie home," Ella says gently, patting my arm before walking out of the apartment.

Ella's parting words hit my heart like an arrow, and they pierce me through and through. I walk with a somberly to Bobby's office. He greets me readily and begins going through the standard turnover paperwork, showing me physical testing results, those who are currently injured, inventory, and more. "How many personnel are currently seeking mental health care?" I ask.

Bobby shakes his head. "Tank cut that from the budget," he explains. "I protested, but he overruled me. I found a loophole in our insurance, and I sent a couple of guys out in town, but we no longer contract with providers on sight."

What? I clench my teeth as I'm beginning to struggle against my growing outrage.

Bobby notices. "Don't be mad at me, Ranger. I've done my job," he says, holding his hands up.

I stare at Bobby as I formulate my words. "That's true," I eventually say. "You took care of everything in your employment description, but as a member of the Core Team of this company, have you been a leader or a follower?" I state. Bobby stares back at me wordlessly, and I stand and exit his office.

I walk directly to Tank's office. He doesn't look up from his computer when I stand in front of him, and he continues the power play for a minute before choosing to give me his attention.

"Ranger?" he asks, glancing in my direction.

"My office. It's time to continue our turnover. Tell me about any changes you've implemented," I order.

"You aren't in charge of this branch yet, Ranger. I have a busy schedule, and I cleared my calendar for you yesterday. You chose to spend that time discussing Stephanie, and then you left the building, I presume getting laid, for the rest of the afternoon. If that's your priority, so be it, but my priority is Rangeman," Tank replies with an edge of arrogance, never taking his eyes off of his computer monitor or phone.

"You forget yourself, Tank," I say in a quiet but severe tone, firing my warning shot.

"No, you do," Tank snaps looking directly at me for a long second before busying himself again. "When was the last time you saw your daughter?" he redirects with a tone of pseudo-concern. "The answers to your questions are in Rangeman instructions and manuals, saved in the share drive library. Why don't you take Stephanie and a computer, fly down to Miami, reconnect with Julie, and come back for turnover after you've caught up on the paperwork? Frankly, I don't have time to dish out cookies and milk for story time."

There's no way this conversation is going to proceed productively, and I leave Tank's office. I stop in the center of five, scan the room for Lester, and pull him into my office, securing the door behind me. "Be brutally honest," I order. "It stays between you and me. Tell me about what's been going on around here."

"You're going to need to take a seat," Lester says, a flash of fire in his eyes. "We're going to be here a while." Two hours later, Lester has painted a grim picture. Tank has transformed company culture under the misplaced notion that the more militaristic we do things, the better we will be. Classically military training is almost always exclusively used in boot camp or other intense training environments where the goal is to reprogram the individual before they join the force at large. That type of invasive and oppressive atmosphere rarely used long-term. Successful units maintain good order and discipline, but they are also collaborative and keep a pulse on the overall morale and welfare of people.

"Damn it," I exclaim, slamming my fist onto the desk. "Everything that's gone on is against my core values, and I thought all of the founding members shared those core values. We set out to build a security company, but we wanted the _how_ to be the foundation of the way we conducted ourselves. We were to treat all employees with dignity and respect, honoring their inclination towards militaristic tendencies but understanding that they and we are civilians. We wanted to attract the very best of the best, and we were only going to do that by providing an exceptional work environment, including housing, food, comprehensive health care, mental health care, high pay and retirement, superior training facilities, and more. We did that! As a result, we attracted clientele willing to pay for the high caliber of service we offered," I thunder, needing an outlet for the anger and frustration that's been building inside me since my return.

"Look at this," I say, pushing an earnings report towards Lester. "When I left, Trenton was the most profitable of the branches. Now, we are barely above the red. Clients are leaving and based on what I've gleaned; I'm guessing it has to do with poor customer service," I state, looking at Lester for confirmation.

"You're correct, Ranger. I've done a lot of field work to assure our clients, but they don't want to talk to number three. They want to talk to number one. Everyone understands you were away serving our country, and they were willing to work with Tank. However, Tank approaches client care with a Drill Instructor approach. He doesn't listen, and only tells the clients what he thinks they need because he's the expert. It's alienating and condescending," Lester says, unphased by my outburst.

"I have something else to tell you, but it isn't going to improve your mood," Lester says ominously, and I sit back in my chair, crossing my arms over my chest. "You know about the dozens of files that Steph stole from Vinnie, half of them resulting in her getting hurt," he says, his eyes fixed on me as though I were a bomb about to explode.

"Go on," I state through clenched teeth, having a good idea where this is going.

"I confronted Connie about it. She said she didn't like it, but the order came from Vinnie. Vinnie tried to tell me to fuck off, but when I dangled him against the wall by his throat with a knife pressed under his shriveled dick, he talked. Vinnie whined that Tank told him to let Stephanie take whatever files she wanted and that he could pocket the difference between Steph's fee and Rangeman's. My grip _accidentally_ slipped, and poor Vinnie's balls were nicked on the edge of my knife," Lester smirked, but his eyes told me the story wasn't over.

"Vinnie confessed that Tank paid him under the table if Beautiful got hurt during a takedown. Vinnie said he didn't want to do it at first, but he owes money all over town, and if he had to choose between Steph's life and his, he picked his. Vinnie's short a ball now. Sweaty palms," Lester says, and I can't stop the growl that comes from deep within.

"I confronted Tank, but he made up some bullshit story about how he loves his Little Girl and would never want to see her hurt and what kind of person am I that I would imply such a thing about him. He insinuated that he had the power to marginalize my job at Rangeman. Tank said that as long as I got paid my salary and dividends from my shares in the company, he otherwise controlled what work I did or did not do. He threatened me, saying that he would not have disloyalty in the ranks, and I made the decision to shut up and work behind the scenes. I decided it was riskier to continue to confront Tank than to keep a handle on what was going on until you came home and the balance of power changed again. Basically, a long ball versus short ball game," Lester sighs, looking intensely frustrated.

"Let me give you an example. You know Cal and Binky were transferred to Boston, right?" Lester continues, and I nod my head once, my jaw clenched too tightly to form words. "Those two noticed Hector and I often went out doing independent ops, usually to mitigate whatever insanely risky thing Beautiful was up to. They decided to help us. Well, after Steph blew up the tracker on the lawn, Tank put out an All-Hands blast that since Stephanie clearly indicated she didn't want Rangeman's help, and that since she was willing to take extreme measures to keep us away, we were to respect her demands. He said that his loyalty and duty was to _his _Rangemen and that he was bound to protect 'the men.' As such, no one was to engage Stephanie until if and when she stopped using dangerous tactics and apologized for her actions with reparations. If anyone were caught using Rangeman resources contrary to his order, there would be a disciplinary hearing. He said he was sorry it came to that, but he was bound to protect us. There was an outcry at first, and Tank softened the original tone of the order by saying the Core Team would, of course, still be helping Beautiful if she needed it. I think we both know what bullshit that was," Lester says, rolling his eyes. I'm seeing red.

"Back to Cal and Binky. They started running into Hector and me too often to be a coincidence, but unfortunately, Tank noticed at the same time we did. They were so used to using their company vehicle while on patrol it didn't occur to them that Tank would be tracking their movements even after they punched off the clock. When Tank confronted them, Cal was defiant, stating that what he did on his free time was his business. Binky quickly backed Cal up. I got the paperwork through and snuck those two up to Boston before Tank could fire them. He was furious at me for undermining his authority and my clear lack of respect, and he took me to the mats every day for a week. I broke a couple of bones in the process, but better that than lose two good men," Lester finishes in resolved determination.

I stand and begin pacing the office, barely resisting the urge to turn my desk over in the process. I take several breaths to calm my raging beast to think more rationally. I can't wait until the end of the week to complete turnover. I hope I still have a company by the end of the week. I stop my pacing in front of Lester, and he stands in front of me. "Tank has to go," I say determinedly. "Now."

Lester nods grimly. "Yes, he does. How do you want to do this?"

"I'm meeting with Pete after lunch. I don't know how many employment, labor, privacy, and whatever else laws Rangeman is currently in violation of from Tank's policies, and the company will likely be paying a hefty fine as a consequence of his actions. I'm also going to have Pete draft the paperwork for me to buy out Tank's shares. Once that's ready, I'll present the contract to him. You and Bobby will be welcome to be a part of that meeting," I say resolutely, but I can hear the frustration and anger in my voice. "I'll officially take over as head of Rangeman sooner than planned, probably close of business tomorrow. I need to know from Pete first just how much legal trouble we are in so I can protect us."

Lester regards me seriously. "Do you have the money for that, Ranger?" he asks. "Our last company valuation was around $70 million. That means you have to raise around fifteen and a half million to buy Tank out."

"I'll put up my property and investment accounts as collateral," I respond, running a hand through my hair. "The employees of this company deserve better than they've gotten, and I'm going to make sure that they are taken care of." Lester clamps a hand on my shoulder.

"I've got your back. Anything you need," Lester says, and I know it's true. "I don't think Bobby will be a problem. He hasn't said anything, choosing to keep a low profile, but I don't think he likes everything that's been going on either. Bobby will never lead the charge, but he is willing to do the right thing when it's at less risk to himself."

I agree with Lester's assessment. Bobby and I have never been close friends, but we have always had a solid professional relationship. We met when he was embedded in my unit during my last two years on active duty. When Bobby heard that Tank, Lester, and I were leaving active duty to start a security company, he approached me about joining us. Bobby was well-prepared with his pitch, and he laid out several ways he could assist us using skills we didn't have. Bobby was able to make his initial investment with an inheritance he had received that was tucked away in the bank, and he became a 15% shareholder of Rangeman.

I hold 41% of the shares, and Tank and Lester each have 22%. Percentages were determined by how much each person was able to invest financially at start-up. With a majority shareholder vote, our by-laws state a member of the Core Team can force out with a majority vote of the other Core Team members of the company, but it requires the other Core Team members to buy that owner out, or the company can buy him out, and we would redistribute the shares accordingly. Given the current financial state of the company, it is better if I buy Tank out.

Lester and I walk together to the breakroom for lunch, and I'm heartened to see some of the bounce returning to Lester's step. We enjoy wraps and water together, and I make it a point to encourage passing Rangemen to come in an join us. Soon, conversation and people are filling the tables in the break room. I slip out quietly and drive to meet Pete at his office downtown.

Peter Thompson is a West Point alum who attended Harvard Law after meeting his minimum service obligation. He's a straight shooter and a valuable member of my team. "Hi Pete," I say, shaking his hand before sitting before his desk.

"Welcome back, Ranger," he says professionally. "Although, I'm not sure how happy you'll be with me when we finish the meeting," Pete continues in warning.

"So I've gathered," I respond. "Tell me straight. What kind of legal trouble is Rangeman in and how do I fix it?"

Pete begins laying out the various violations Rangeman has committed. "Based on our past dealings, I know you aren't going to want to sweep this under the rug," Pete says. "I propose paying the fines preemptively, and that will likely prevent a more invasive investigation by various government agencies. Then I recommend offering a settlement to each Trenton employee. You can have them sign a contract allowing them a severance if they want to move on or a bonus if you meet xyz future earnings in addition to the settlement amount. If they accept the settlement, the language will protect you from any future claims."

His proposal is more or less what I expected. It will take years for the company to recover from Tank's year of power, but it's better than losing Rangeman.

"Work with accounting and do it. I'm willing to move on this tomorrow," I press.

"Will do," Pete responds.

"There's one more thing," I prompt. "I'm going to force Tank out of the company. I need you to draw up the paperwork for me to buy him out. You can use my property and investment accounts as collateral while I secure the funding. I'd like that to go through before I propose the settlement. I believe that with Tank's departure, my employees will be more willing to settle rather than sue."

"I'm glad to hear it," Pete says seriously, putting his hands together. "I wish you the best, Ranger. I'll get right on this."

I sit in the driver's seat of the Cayenne and check the messages on my phone. Tank left two. The first wondered why I was late for his meeting, and my temper flares immediately. The second stated that he was a busy man and that his next available opening for me wouldn't be until tomorrow morning. There's a saying that absolute power corrupts absolutely, and I never expected to see it embodied by my number two.

I begin driving to the park to meet Stephanie. Based on what I've discovered of Tank's policies concerning Steph and his demeanor in general, her actions make a lot more sense to me, but I think she has incorrectly lumped Lester into things. I hope I can help her to see that not everyone is against her, but rather, there are still people who love her and care about her. My heart clenches as I pull into the parking lot, and I pray I find the right words to get through her barriers.

I observe Stephanie's car parked in the same spot as yesterday, and I see her staring forward with her hands clenched to the steering wheel. I park next to her, and she silently gets out of the vehicle and stands on the curb. "Babe," I say warmly, smiling at her. "I'm glad to see you." She looks at me searchingly before beginning a slow walk towards the bench.

Steph has dark circles under her eyes, and it's clear she didn't sleep well and probably hasn't in some time. She coughs several times as she walks, and, recalling the summary Bobby showed me, I wonder how healthy she is. I fight the urge to wrap her in my arms and instead amble beside her. "I'm glad to see you, too," Steph says quietly, looking ahead, and my heart soars.

When we reach the bench, Steph stops behind it and grips the wooden slats. "I know what you said yesterday, Ranger, but I don't get it. Why are you still trying to be my friend? Surely, you've had enough time to figure out how fucked up I am," she says dejectedly.

I close my eyes a second as I keep my emotions in check and place a hand beside hers without touching on the bench back. "Babe," I say passionately. "It doesn't matter to me what you've done, who you've slept with, who you've killed or hurt, or anything else. It matters to me who you are, and you are the best person I know."

Stephanie hangs her head, and while I don't think she is accepting what I am saying, she isn't rejecting me either. "Babe, will you sit with me?" I ask quietly, holding out my hand to her. Stephanie looks up at me with those expressive blue eyes that are the windows to her soul, and I see the conflict of hope versus despair. Hope wins, and she tentatively places her smaller hand in mine. I smile and give a gentle squeeze as I lead us to the front of the bench.

Patience is one of my strengths, and I am willing to wait for my Babe as long as it takes. I feel her fingers tighten around mine as she continues to consider my words.

"You said that you know that Tank, Lester, and Bobby said some things they might regret. What do you know?" Steph asks quietly.

I pause before replying. "I know my men said things that indicated they might not have been as concerned for your welfare as you believed. Will you tell me what you heard, Babe? I've realized over the past twenty-four hours that not everyone in my Core Team is who I thought they were, and I will believe whatever you tell me," I ask gently, and I feel Steph tense beside me immediately. "Please?" Steph becomes rigid beside me, but to my relief, she begins talking.

"After Farro, the last thing I remember is being in the ambulance, and I must have passed out. When I woke up again, I was alone in the exam room adjacent to Bobby's office. I heard Bobby, Lester, and Tank discussing my condition, and I listened quietly. After Bobby gave his status report, Lester," Steph starts, and her voice falters as she coughs and clears her throat.

"Lester said, and I'll never forget it, he said, 'Damn it! How can we keep Beautiful alive if she won't let us help her? Ranger is going to take us to the mats, hard when he finds out about this. I love that girl, but this shit's gone on long enough. I'm tired of constantly worrying that we won't be there on time the next time. It could have just as easily been Steph's body in the morgue as Farro's, and then we'd be busy trying to keep Ranger alive.' I could hear how angry and frustrated he was at me. Then Tank said he had 'accepted I was going to die,' and he had 'worked up several contingency plans to deal with you,'" Steph says, her tone mimicking the anger, frustration, and contempt she heard in their words.

"I know you've always offered up your company resources to me, but if it's difficult for me to accept your help when you're here, it's worse when you are gone. Tank is never welcoming or sincere. At best I can say he is indifferent towards me, and I know he thinks he's better than me. Bobby has always helped me when I'm hurt, but he cares very little about what is going on otherwise. But Lester, I always thought Lester genuinely liked me. When he said those things, I realized no one liked me and that they only helped me either because you threatened them or because I'm somehow a threat to you," Steph says with fervor, and she's clutching my hand fiercely.

"When Lester said that 'this shit's gone on long enough,' I knew I couldn't allow Rangeman to waste any more money on me. I am no one's liability or responsibility. I make my choices, and I face the consequences. I understand that I've done some terrible things, and I have no intention of tarnishing anyone else because of my failings," Steph says with heart-wrenching determination, and I have no doubt it's the same determination that Steph used to uproot her life the day after Farro.

Steph is trembling as she fights to remain stoic, and I hate that she feels she needs to hide from me. "Babe, will you let me place my arm around you?" I ask, desperately hoping she continues to let me in. I stop breathing as I wait for Stephanie to respond. Several seemingly endless seconds pass before she nods her head, yes, and I internalize my whoop of relief.

I slide closer towards her on the bench and warp my arm around her shoulders, and Steph rests her head in the soft spot of my neck. Goosebumps erupt as I breathe in her scent, and I rest my hand on my thigh closest to hers. I feel Steph exhale deeply and relax into me before placing her hand once again in mine. It's the closest to feeling home I've experienced since returning from my mission.

"Babe, I think you are correct in your assessments of Bobby and Tank, and I understand how you reached your conclusion regarding Lester. But Babe, would you be open to allowing me to explain what I think he meant?" I say, breaking the silence.

"Okay," Stephanie agrees, and it's another indication of her growing trust in me.

"I've known Lester my entire life. He's a joker, but he can also be a hot head, and what he said was poorly timed and worded. You don't see that side of him much, because he likes to keep up his ladies' man persona around you. Lester hates seeing you hurt, almost as much as me. Lester would volunteer his free time to train you, and I know he genuinely worries about you and if you've had enough training to do your job safely. Lester told me he wishes you would let him help you out in the field, and that was out of genuine concern for you. Lester wasn't upset that I would take him to the mats when you did get hurt; he was upset with himself that he failed to protect you. Lester and I, we enjoy working things out in the gym, and it's something we routinely do. He wasn't angry that you got hurt because he felt I would discipline him, though I know that's how it sounded. He was frustrated because he felt that he let you, me, and himself down by not being there for you," I explain.

"Why hasn't Lester told me any of this?" Steph says, and I can hear that she wants to believe me but is struggling to assimilate it with her experiences of the past several months. "I've seen him at least every other day. He is constantly trying to place trackers on me, follow me, get his hands on my files, interfere with my skips, and generally disrespecting every boundary I put into place," she continues, anger seeping through her words.

I consider my options and decide the best way forward is to continue to be completely honest. "Lester has spent this last year in a terrible position, and most of what you saw him do or say was a cover to protect you," I state, and Steph moves her head suddenly to stare at me incredulously.

"Lester's talent is in tracking and finding people. He discovered where you are currently living within a week of you moving in. Hector confronted him, but Lester kept your secret. Hector eventually provided Lester with access to your tracking data as a back-up should something happen to him. Lester planted trackers at Tank's insistence because you are right about Tank's motives being about selfish control. Lester needed to maintain his cover so that Tank wouldn't suspect that he knew more than he was letting on. Lester explained to me that he interfered with your captures with the explicit purpose of keeping you safe. Both he and Hector are worried about you, Babe, and they care for you very much," I say earnestly, my eyes never leaving hers. Steph's furrows her brow, and she presses her lips together tightly. I can almost see her brain processing what I'm sharing with her.

"But then why would Lester be concerned about letting you down, and why is Tank making contingency plans to deal with you, and why does Bobby agree? It doesn't make sense given the nature of us," Steph queries rapidly, gesturing between our bodies.

I give her hand a slight squeeze and curl the edge of my lips up in a contrite smile, "Because Babe, they know what I've been too afraid to admit. They know that if you had died that day, I would lose my reason to keep breathing," I confess.

"What?" Stephanie gasps, and I feel her stiffen in my arms. I know I'm on the brink of overwhelming her, and we are not at a point in our relationship for confessions of love. I pull her into a short hug and try to put as much peace as I can into it.

"Meet me here tomorrow?" I say into her hair, and I feel Steph nod yes. I stand, knowing she needs time to think about everything. "I'm a phone call away, day or night, Babe," I remind her with one last look before turning and walking away.

* * *

**A/N:** Thank you again. I am humbled by the response to _Warrior_. I was afraid the darkness of this story would turn off readers, which is why I wanted to be clear there is a light at the end of the tunnel and a purpose to the journey. I'm so glad you are going through it with me. I have responded to everyone who left a comment, and to those that I can't reply to directly, and to everyone who has favorited or followed this story, this _muchas gracias_ is specifically for you. I hope you all continue to leave your thoughts and reactions for me to read. This is officially the longest chapter I have ever written, and, full disclosure for those prefer more even chapters, I am cognizant if it appears uneven, but when switching between POVs, I'm not always able to keep things completely even.

Misty23y is a wonderful beta, and she helps me through the writing process more than I can say. She recently posted a completed short story, _The Call_, and I binge read it in one sitting, thoroughly enjoying every word.

I posted the last chapter of _To be Proud_ on Friday, and if you are feeling like you need a break from the heaviness of this story, let that be your antidote. It's an immediate strong Steph story whose character I found a joy to write.


	8. Chapter 8

**Disclaimer:** Anything recognizable belongs to Janet Evanovich, and the rest is mine. I'm grateful she lets us play.

**Warning:** Dark fic. Adult language, adult content, violence, smut. This is written for mature audiences only.

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**Chapter 8**

**Stephanie's POV**

I unblinkingly watch Ranger's departure with my mouth slightly agape. _I'm his reason for breathing?_ What the hell kind of answer is that? Ranger and I have been drawn to each other from the beginning, sure, but as quickly as he is willing to get into my bed, that's how fast he leaves it again, usually with the exit strategy of pushing me into someone else's bed. How the fuck am I supposed to believe that he would rather die than live without me given everything that's happened between us?

I'm furious, but I can't put my finger on exactly why. I get in my car and drive home, wanting my safe space to let my rage out. As I get closer to home, my anger increases. This place isn't the private sanctuary I thought it was. Hector knows, yes, but now I find out Lester, and I think it's reasonable to assume, Ranger does as well. How many people have been inside, touching my things, walking in my space, without my permission?

I park, enter my apartment, and reset the sensors before letting out a massive shout of rage. I pick up my phone and call Hector. "_Estefania_?" he queries after the first ring.

"Lester knows!?" I spit out venomously.

"I'll be there in ten minutes," Hector replies before hanging up.

I pace the small space, turning a knife around in my fingers as I walk. There are a few things I have come to regard as factual bedrocks of my life.

1\. I may have once been a good person, but I am not any longer. In the great balance of things, I have committed far more evil than good, and it is likely I will never be able to right that balance again.

2\. I am an inherently unlovable person who takes more than she gives.

3\. I bring death and destruction into the lives of whomever I encounter.

I have blood on my hands, and each drop of blood shed because of me blackens my soul. I'm currently stuck in a living purgatory of redemption, but the harder I try to pull myself towards the light, the more exhausted I am.

When I overheard Tank, Lester, and Bobby at Rangeman the day after Farro, I felt betrayed, but over the past few months, that feeling has evolved into something more. I agree with them, except about Ranger, but I don't expect them to know the truth about what happens when we share a bed.

I was deliberately naïve about the dangers of bond apprehension, and I ignored the consequences of my bumbling. Someone always swooped in to help me, and I selfishly took their, usually Rangeman's, sacrifice for granted. I never asked for their surveillance and monitoring, but I didn't complain when they saved my life either. When I never learned my lessons and when I failed to agree to further training, proactively seek a partner, or be more cautious about which FTA's I chose to apprehend, I selfishly took advantage of those men I called my friends.

I felt betrayed, but really, the person I betrayed was myself first and Rangeman second. I am not good, and I court the evil I cause.

A knocking on the door interrupts my cogitations, and I verify Hector is standing outside before opening the door and securing it behind him. I glare at him, my jaw set and fists clenched at my side. I trust Hector as much I can trust anyone, and he is the last person I expected to violate that trust.

Hector doesn't back down against my anger, but he doesn't confront me either. Instead, he walks into the kitchen, places a pizza on the island, and leans against the counter as he has weekly since I moved in here. Hector calmly begins eating a slice, but his eyes never leave me. It's hard to remain frigid when the smell of pepperoni fills the room. I let out a short, frustrated puff, slap a ten-dollar bill on the counter, and silently chew. I continue the staring contest, but much of my steam begins to vent.

After few bites, I place the half-eaten slice back into the box, wipe my hands on my pants, and sit down on the edge of the futon with my elbows on my knees and my fingers locked over my bent neck. "Why?" I say in resignation.

Hector walks across the room and sits beside me. "Because I care about you, _Mi Angelita_," he replies quietly, and I look up questioningly. "Lester discovered your home without my assistance, and I prevented him from entering. No one, to the best of my knowledge, has been inside, except you and me. Lester protected your secret, _Estefania_," Hector says before a look of tired compassion settles on his face.

"My job as a liaison between the gangs and Rangeman is dangerous. Further, I live half an hour away, and I don't spend every night at Rangeman. I needed a way to protect you without being the only one. I didn't break my promise by telling Lester, because he already knew. Yes, I gave him access to the tracking data, but it was out of concern for you," Hector says seriously.

"You know that wasn't what I meant with that promise," I challenge. "You should have told me."

"If you are honest with yourself, _Angelia_, I think you would agree you haven't completely kept your promise either," Hector immediately replies, his voice pointed but gentle, and I swallow heavily against his accusation.

"You are alive, but are you living?" he says quietly, placing a hand on my knee, and I resume starting at a spot on the floor. Hector gives it a light squeeze before standing and letting himself out, locking the door behind him.

I thought I understood my world and my place in it. After Farro, I knew with complete certainty that I am dammed, and I have lived a life atoning for that damnation while protecting others from me. I accepted Hector's help and training, but there are clear boundaries that I think he understands and respects. He's attempted to get me to enter counseling or talk about Farro, but I made it clear that wasn't going to happen. Any amount of me bearing my soul to someone isn't going to change the facts of my life. Hector backed off, and as far as I'm concerned, I kept my promise.

I continue to work alone for several reasons. The first is the most important. I will not have anyone risk a potentially fatal injury on my behalf. The second is because I am not afraid of being hurt or even dying. Any wound I receive in a failure to apprehend someone using the best method is a reminder of my ineptitude, and my pain is further atonement for the pain I've caused to others. It reminds me that I'm alive, but others, by my hand, have died.

But Ranger, sweeping back into my life, is attempting to challenge my paradigm. He cares, Lester cares, Hector cares, and he would die without me. I stand and shake my head. Bullshit.

I push aside all lingering thoughts, and I begin making my preparations to go out this evening. I quickly shower, apply heavier make-up appropriate for the low light of a bar, and a pair of silver earrings that hang several inches below my ears, coming to in a straight point.

I tug on a pair of fishnet stockings before pulling up the front-facing zipper of a short, high backed, black bondage dress. It has two buckles cinching my waist in a corset-like vice, and I adjust my boobs for maximum cleavage over the sweetheart neckline. For footwear, I settle on a pair of stilettoed boots that rise above my knee. I complete the ensemble with my usual jacket and weapons.

I feed Rex as I review the file and my plan. They acquitted Oscar Sanchez of all previous charges, but it didn't take him long to acquire new ones. The judge set his bail at $500,000, and I know what I am going to do with my $50,000 capture check.

I get in my car, and I try to enter my zone as I drive to the 609 Club. I am almost able to clear my mind, but then snippets of my conversations with Ranger and Hector wander back. _ I care about you._

I hit my hand on the steering wheel, and the sting brings me back to reality. I put my blank face in place and stride confidently into the darkened bar and perch myself in the center of three empty stools. The barkeep remembers me and sets a double tequila, twist of lime, on the bar top, nodding his head to the corner booth behind me. Bingo.

I throw the drink back and seductively amble to Oscar's self-made throne. I can feel every eye in the room on me, and my skin begins to crawl. I reach the side of the table and wait for Oscar to undress me with his eyes before purring, "Thank you for the drink, Mr. Sanchez."

Oscar chuckles, pushing the girl beside him away. She gives me a dark look as she scurries to the rear of the bar. I slide into the vacancy, but I stop with several inches between Oscar and myself. I take a closer look at the people surrounding me. Across from me are two Latino gang-bangers, and they lean forward with leering expressions as settle into the seat. I sense a presence to my right, and Caesar bends over, whispering into my ear, "Good to see you, baby. Are you _available_?"

Chills run down my spine, and I try to ignore the clenching in my stomach. Why do I feel guilty about this? I'm here for a job, and I will do what it takes to get my man.

I give Caesar a smirk before turning my attention back to Oscar, taking a sip of the drink freshly placed before me. He finishes his conversation in rapid Spanish with the two men in front of me, and I gather they are making arrangements for a drug shipment. I pretend I don't understand, continuing to sip my drink while Oscar begins to trail a hand on the outside of my thigh, grabbing the knee to open it towards him. I reluctantly slide closer as he hooks a finger under a thread of my stockings, pinching the soft flesh.

The pain that normally drives me suddenly is paralyzing as I flashback to the gentle security of Ranger's embrace.

"I never forget a beautiful woman," Oscar states, turning his full attention to me. "I believe we were in the middle of making a deal when we were unfortunately interrupted. I had hoped you would return," he continues, brazenly cupping my womanhood roughly in his hand. Caesar places a hand on my shoulder and is pushing his fingers into the upper hem of my bustline.

I stand abruptly and slide out of the booth, but Caesar blocks my path towards the exit. "I'll be right back," I say, biting my lip, and head towards the bathroom. Caesar follows me, but I hold out my hand as I begin to close the door. "Not yet, big boy," I smirk, and he frowns threateningly at me.

I cough, doubling over as I do, before gripping the edge of the sink and stare at my reflection in the mirror.

_Babe, it doesn't matter to me what you've done, who you've slept with, who you've killed or hurt, or anything else. It matters to me who you are, and you are the best person I know._

I can't do this. I can't be this person tonight. I haven't cared which way my moral compass pointed as long as I got my man, but staring at myself, I realize I can't fight darkness with darkness tonight. I need to go home.

I unlock the restroom and begin to walk towards the exit when someone suddenly pushes me against the wall. "What are you playing at, _puta_?" Caesar says, his narrowed, dark eyes boring into me. (Slut)

"Another night," I shrug. "The tequila isn't agreeing with me."

"That doesn't matter for what I have in mind," he says in a low voice, quickly locking my arm around my back and forcing me towards the rear of the bar again. For the first time since Farro, I feel fear, and my heart rate explodes. I try to remember my training, but my brain is fighting wave after wave of invading panic.

I'm pushed through a door and stumble up a narrow stairway. I begin to cough as my breath becomes shallow, and it causes me to trip, and my knee scrapes against the rough wood. I let out a small cry of pain against the sharp stinging of my torn flesh. I suddenly feel aware of my humanity, and I don't want to hurt, and I don't want him to fuck me_. I care about you_. I feel a burst of desperate hope, and I use the distraction to reach inside my pocket and push the panic button on my fob.

Caesar hooks a hand under my elbow in a vice grip and yanks me back onto my feet. "I remember how you like it. I can play _unavailable_ just as well as _available_, baby," he says, breathing into my ear before roughly turning my chin and licking the side of my face.

We resume our assent upstairs, and Caesar pushes me down a narrow hallway into a vacant office. Caesar pushes me roughly into a room halfway down, and I land on my hands and knees as my heels catch on the shag carpet. "While I like the view, baby, this party won't begin without _Señor _Sanchez," he says, slapping my ass so hard that he pushes my face into the carpet. He laughs as he exits the room, and I hear the door lock behind me.

I stand, involuntarily trembling, as I take in my surroundings. Imitation wood paneling is covering the walls. The carpet is orange, and there is a single bulb hanging from a heavily popcorned ceiling. There's a metal desk with two folding chairs near one wall and a lumpy brown couch against the other. The walls are bare, and the room is windowless. I try the door in vain.

My breath is coming in short spurts. _Breathe, Steph_, I tell myself. You can handle this. My chest vibrates, and I pat the front of my jacket frantically before unzipping a pocket and pulling out my phone. _Think, Steph_.

There's a voice message from Hector, and I ignore it, punching in a number I know by heart.

"Babe," Ranger answers before the first ring ends, and I'm suddenly fighting the urge to cry, something else I haven't done since before Farro.

"I'm sorry," I said brokenly, sinking to the floor in the farthest corner of the room.

"It's okay," Ranger soothes. "I'm coming. Tell me where you are," he directs.

"609 Club. Oscar Sanchez is FTA. I," I falter. "I couldn't do it. When I tried to leave, he had me intercepted. I'm locked in a room on the second level, third door down on the right."

"We're five minutes out, Babe. Keep talking to me," Ranger replies, but I hear the background noise go silent, and I assume he's placed me on mute.

I remember I'm armed, and I pull my weapon out of its hidden compartment over my heart and hold it loosely in my shaking hand. I'm silent as words fail me, but I press the phone to my ear as a lifeline.

"Don't get shot," I finally say, knowing I wouldn't be able to survive if he did.

"Don't go crazy," Ranger says, and I hear the slamming of a car door as the line goes dead.

A minute later, I hear distant footsteps and banging from outside the door, and the panic creeps closer, pushing against the demands of my rational brain. _No, I won't be helpless_. With a burst of energy, I stand and assume a defensive position behind the door but far enough back that the door won't hit me if it slams open.

I tense when the door shudders against a weight before the frame splinters, and Ranger enters the room. He has his weapon drawn, but his back is to me before he quickly swings his weapon around, securing the space. I lower my S&W to my side as my eyes lock with his, and he closes the distance between us in two steps. Ranger pulls me against him and kisses the top of my head.

"Are you hurt?" he asks without releasing his grip.

"No," I say into his chest. He's wearing a flak jacket, and the canvas is rough against my cheek, but all I feel is relief. "Let's go."

Ranger pushes me behind him, and I follow him out of my would-be cell. Hector locks eyes with me for a split second as I exit before facing forward to retreat down the stairs. Hector covers my rear as we walk out of the bar towards my CR-V. I fumble for the keys, but I'm struggling between that damned cough and unsteady fingers, and Hector reaches over to extract them for me. Ranger opens the rear door, and I sit woodenly while he walks around to the other side, and Hector begins to drive before he closes the door.

"Sanchez?" I question, wondering how safe we are, wrapping my arms around my body but continuing to hold my weapon.

"Lester is bringing him in," Ranger states, edging closer to me.

My vision is beginning to tunnel as I fight the war of emotions. "You guys do care," I say to myself before unexpectedly bursting into uncontrollable tears. Huge, racking sobs take over my body, and I gasp for air. I feel my revolver being removed from my grip before Ranger wraps me in a gentle embrace in the center of the backseat. I lean into him, but I reach out my right hand and clutch Hector's shoulder. His fingertips rest over mine, and I feel my barriers shatter.

"I'm sorry," I repeat over and over. I know someone is saying something to me, but I can't hear whoever it is as memories consume my mind. I see every person who has died because of me fall again. I relive every person I've injured and their expressions. I see Ranger take bullets for me, jump off a bridge for me, and run into danger for me.

Then, with my eyes pressed tightly closed, I see Ranger before me, Hector beside me, and Lester behind me. Light surrounds them, and as they step closer to me, their light becomes extinguished. "No, stop," I plead, and I cover my ears as the ringing that has plagued me since Farro increases.

I feel hands rest over my own, and my eyes fly open as I push myself back against the seat. Ranger is there, and his hands fall away as I move backward. His lips are moving, but I'm unable to receive the input. I realize the vehicle is in off, and I scoot across the seat towards the door as it opens. Ranger looks beyond me, and I turn my head in that direction as I begin to push my legs outside. My legs wobble as I try to support my weight, but I don't notice as I look around frantically. Home. I'm home.

Hector catches me before I fall, running an arm around my back and under my shoulders. "_Estefania_," I catch faintly, and my eyes search out his with furrowed brows. I shake my head and rub my ears. "_Estefania,_" he says again, only slightly clearer, but I nod my understanding. We walk the short distance to my apartment door, Ranger on my other side.

Once all three of us pass through the small entrance, I stand in the space between the bathroom and closet. I wait there stupidly as my eyes rapidly shift between the two men, suddenly not knowing how to proceed. I know they are trying to talk to me, but the ringing prevents me from understanding, and my breathing accelerates, prompting another cough.

Hector is standing between me and the exit, and he takes a tentative step forward, his hands in front of him. With another short stride, he is beside me, and he slowly places his hands on my shoulders to begin removing my jacket. He takes the coat and hangs it on its hook near the door, and makes a point of showing me my keys and loops the ring onto the nail. Home. I'm home.

I begin to unzip my boots, and Hector squats to help me. I pull my knives out and pass them to him before stepping onto the cold ground. I wrap my arms around myself for warmth as my eyes seek out Ranger. His immediately lock with mine as I watch him place his 9mm on the small breakfast bar and unzip his Kevlar vest. Hector walks towards him, removes his flak jacket, and he says something I can't make out, before opening my kitchen cupboards and pulling out a stack of clothes.

I continue to watch Ranger, but in my periphery, I see Hector place the clothes onto the closed toilet seat before standing in front of me. "_Angelita_," I hear distantly, and I silently stare at him. "Any other weapons?"

It takes a second for me to absorb the words, but when they catch up with my brain, I unbuckle the corset with unsteady hands and pull several razor blades out of a sleeve on the inside of the belt. Hector takes them from me, nods once, and points to the bathroom. "One minute before I check on you," Hector says seriously, closing the door behind me.

I focus on the task at hand, quickly unzipping the dress and pulling off the ruined stockings. I throw the fishnets into the trash, and I'm relieved when I see Hector placed a bra and panty set between a pair of loose-fitting yoga pants and a sweatshirt. I'm pulling the hoodie over my head when I hear a rap on the door. I open it before wordlessly turning back to remove the earrings, scrub my hands, brush my teeth, and wash the streaked make-up off.

I pick up the dress and toss it into the hamper before pulling my first-aid kit off of the top shelf of the closet. Ranger is immediately beside me and takes the kit from me before I sit on the futon.

"Babe?" I hear, and I shake my head slightly, glad the ringing is beginning to decrease. I turn my head slightly to look at him with a searching expression. "Babe?" Ranger says again. "Can you hear me?"

I nod once in response, and he looks relieved. "What's hurt?" he asks, opening the first aid kit on his lap. I keep the futon flat as a bed, and I scoot back across the center, pulling a pillow behind my back with my knees triangularly bent before me. I pull up the right leg of my pants as Hector sits on my other side. There is a modestly deep cut on my knee, and I hadn't realized how much blood had seeped down my leg. Hector cleans it with warm, damp paper towels before Ranger applies antiseptic and secures several bandages.

I lean my head back against the wall and close my eyes for a second while I gather my thoughts. They flutter open again when I feel a glass of water placed in my hands, and I drink it gratefully. I know what I need to do.

"I'm sorry," I say, looking at the blank TV screen. "I'm fine. Really. You don't need to stay."

"Babe," Ranger says from my left. "We're not going anywhere."

I purse my lips together. "You need to. It's not, I'm not," I try, before wiping my hands over my face. I sit up straighter, my resolve increasing. "I don't want to hurt you," I state firmly, looking between the two men flanking my sides. "I get it. You care, but you can't," I say, and neither one of them move.

"Why not, Babe?" Ranger says softly.

"Because you're good, and I'm me!" I exclaim in frustration.

"_Angelita_?" I hear Hector say, and I turn my head to look at him.

"You call me that, but we don't have the same destination in mind," I retort, and Hector looks confused. I push myself off the futon, stand, favoring my left leg, and look at both men equally. Ranger keeps the same relaxed posture, but I know him well enough to know that he is ready to spring.

"You guys cannot stay with me. I will only hurt you," I say emphatically, not understanding why this is so hard for them to get.

"Where do you think you are going, Babe?" Ranger asks evenly.

"To hell, obviously," I state, throwing my hands into the air, "And I don't want to take you with me, so really, I'm fine, but you need to go. Thank you for helping me tonight. I," I shake my head. "Anyway, thank you." I cough into the crook of my elbow before pointing to the door.

"Why do you think you're going to hell?" Ranger presses, ignoring my dismissal. I drop my arms to my sides with my hands rolled into fists.

"I'm bad, and despite my best efforts, everything I do ends up fucked up. You guys are too good to be taken down by me," I explain, hoping it makes sense to them now.

"_Estefania_, what do you mean?" Hector says, his head tilted to one side, a somber expression on his face.

Why is this so hard for them? "I'm a murderer! I get involved, and people die," I state emphatically, my volume increasing. "Before you respond, yes, I know you've both killed people before as well, but what you did was for the greater good, whether it was in service to your country or to save lives or to make peace. You guys are heroes. There isn't anyone that doesn't understand and appreciate your sacrifice. You have killed, yes, but you were righteous, and you are good. I'm not, and I can't make things better. I've come to terms with that, and I'm fine with it, but I can't hurt either of you as well." I explain pointedly.

Hector looks horrified, and I think he must be starting to get it. Ranger leans forward slightly. "What did Farro say to you?" he asks quietly, never taking his eyes off mine, and the words piece through me.

"What?" I gasp, staggering back in surprise.

"As Farro was dying, what did he say to you?" Ranger repeats with slightly more intensity.

How does he know? The room begins to fade away, as I remember the day I will never forget. "He called me Little Girl," I whisper. "When he," I start, and I'm aware of my hands covering my chest, and I push my body against the wall behind me. "After I shot him, these tiny drops of his blood covered me, and he fell to the floor," I continue, rubbing my hands against my arms. "He put his fingers into the wound and then held them up to me, dripping," I recollect, demonstrating.

"He said, 'You killed me, bitch, all because you wouldn't spread your legs like a good girl. Do you see that picture on the fridge? That's my wife, Stella, and my daughter, Amber. Are you going to tell them you're the reason I'm dead? That you stood there and did nothing as you watched me die?' And I did. I just stood there and watched as the puddle of blood spread underneath him, and he understood. He said, 'Or are you going to slither away knowing you're a killer who destroyed a family?'

"I couldn't move. We stared at each other, and I watched Farro die. His last words were, 'You're a murderer. Live with that,'" I say brokenly, but the tears don't fall. I can't cry over truth.

"I saw the picture on his fridge. His wife and daughter are beautiful. I tried to talk to them a dozen times since I killed Farro, but I can't. I _am_ the evil snake who took a husband and father away. I've tried to live with it. I've tried to atone for my sins," I say, my words gaining in energy. I want to stop my mouth, but now that I've started, the words keep pouring out of me.

"I'm trying to live, but I feel dead inside. I was good once, like you, but I have too much blood on my hands. I've worked hard to get better at my job, and I keep bringing people in, and no matter what I do, it's still fucked up," I explain forcefully.

"When I heard Tank, Lester, and Bobby talking about me after Farro, I felt betrayed. With time, I realized they hadn't betrayed me, but rather I had betrayed them. I bring death and destruction with me. The only thing they got wrong, and you seem to have wrong, is that you'll live just fine without me," I push out, looking at Ranger.

"Your lives will be safer, more secure, and happier if I'm not in it. I let our conversations over the past twenty-four hours get into my head, and tonight, I lost my nerve. If I hadn't, I would have been able to do what I needed to do. For a second, I began to believe that I am lovable, but I know that isn't true. You can't love someone that is evil!" I finish, dropping my hands to my sides. "Now you know why you need to leave, so go."

Ranger and Hector stand in unison, and I let out a long breath before dropping my chin to stare at the ground. Finally, they get it.

* * *

**A/N:** Holy moly you guys. You did it again. You broke the single day views and number of comments for a single chapter records all over again. I refreshed my stats page in disbelief Monday morning, humbled and thrilled. I want to thank each of you for your enthusiasm and engagement. I'm posting this chapter a day early in response. I don't have a set posting schedule in mind right now other than at least one guaranteed posting every Sunday evening or Monday morning per week. Please consider every additional posting a bonus.

My beta, misty23y, is a fantastic partner on this project. She's been instrumental to me working through Tank's storyline in particular, and I'm grateful for the work she does to support my stories.


	9. Chapter 9

**Disclaimer:** Anything recognizable belongs to Janet Evanovich, and the rest is mine. I'm grateful she lets us play.

**Warning:** Dark fic. Adult language, adult content, violence, smut. This is written for mature audiences only.

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**Chapter 9**

**Ranger's POV**

I retired for bed at 2200, as I do every night, but two hours later, I'm still staring at the ceiling. I can't shake the feeling that something bad is about to happen. When I returned to Rangeman at 1800, I looked for Tank, but he was already gone for the day. I'm not looking forward to permanently severing my relationship with a now former best friend, but I have never been a man to shy away from doing the right thing even if it isn't the easy thing. What Tank has done cannot be repaired easily, and I'm not sure he will ever understand the damage he has wrought this past year.

I returned to the office after my conversation with Stephanie to continuing planning Tank's buy-out. Rangeman has a relatively decentralized structure, and we work similar to a franchise model. The heads of each of the branches autonomously run the business in that region under the governing corporate guidance from headquarters. We are a privately held company with myself as the CEO, and the Core Team forms the Board. Quarterly I lead a meeting with the Core Team and the heads of each of the branches. Right now, it works that I visit a different region each quarter for an onsite inspection, and that is augmented with less formal visits as needed. When I'm gone on a mission, Tank takes over my Rangeman responsibilities, and Lester takes over my Core Team responsibilities. Tank and Lester split the number two duties, and team members from other branches will temporarily transfer to Trenton if the workload becomes too great.

Miami was the first branch, and Trenton opened a year later. Lester and I have family and professional connections in both areas. The Trenton office was more difficult to start-up than I anticipated, and the Core Team ended up relocating to the New Jersey branch to ensure its success. The original plan was for the Miami branch, which is larger, to be Rangeman headquarters, and I would be the head of that office, and Tank would take the helm of the head of the Trenton office.

Lester had the option of being the head of the Atlanta or Boston branches, but he stated he would rather work alongside me and focus on his Core Team responsibilities and that he preferred living near family, whether that was Trenton or Miami. Lester has always been willing and able to step into a leadership role when called upon, but he privately told me he finds the burden of leadership stressful and isolating, preferring to take on a lower position in the hierarchy happily. He said it was one of the reasons he was willing to leave the military; he was slated to take command in his next assignment and didn't want to assume that burden.

When the Atlanta office opened about a year and a half after the Trenton branch was established, I offered the number one slot to Tank, but he declined, saying he was already settled in Trenton. Rangeman Trenton, in no small part to Hector's work negotiating cooperation between the gangs and Rangeman, had begun to thrive. The Boston office opened six months after that. I started to notice disparities between the different branches, and I made the decision to halt our expansion until we became better established in our markets.

Rangeman has always sought to serve higher-end clientele with a reputation for being the best preceding us. I found that due to a lack of standardization that impacted quality control, that reputation was waning. I spent the next two years going through our lessons learned and establishing the governing guidance the branches use to form the basis of their operations and procedures. I also continued to execute various missions for the government, and while that income helped keep Rangeman afloat in the early years and fund the startup of the Atlanta and Boston branches, it was also a reason for me to slow Rangeman's expansion.

It was two months after the Atlanta office opened that I met Stephanie, and the Boston office opened up four months after that. In hindsight, I think Tank was still banking on me returning to Miami to be near Julie when he declined the position at Atlanta. Opening a new branch is a lot of work, and life was easier for Tank in Trenton. In fairness, I offered the Boston office to Lester and Bobby, both of whom declined. Lester and Bobby stated they felt the company ran better if the Core Team remained headquartered at a single location, and that, if we continued to expand, future heads of branches should be non-Core Team members. We took a majority vote, and it became part of company bylaws. Tank dissented, but unless I stepped aside as the number one of Trenton, he no longer had the option of leading a Rangeman branch.

I can only speculate that somewhere along the way, Tank began to blame Stephanie for me never moving to Miami, ignoring the fact that Rangeman bylaws officially made Trenton company headquarters after the Boston vote. That bitterness festered deep inside him. With Tank having an extended reign over the Trenton branch during my eleven-month deployment, he knew that at some point he would have to step aside again. His love of power grew alongside his hatred of giving it up, and once again Steph unjustly became the object of blame.

I phoned the heads of the Boston, Atlanta, and Miami Rangeman offices. One by one, I was told a similar story. They were each glad I was home and wondered if I had taken back control of the company. It appears Tank tried to push his illegal labor practices to the other branches, but since it didn't come in the form of official Rangeman policy thanks to Lester's interference, they ignored the orders. However, since Rangeman's reputation both as an employer and in client care has declined so much at headquarters, it is having an impact on their branches. While no location has seen as big of a loss as Trenton, the company as a whole is suffering. I informed them of my plan to buy-out Tank, pre-emptively pay the inevitable fines from the Department of Labor, and present a settlement to everyone affected by Tank's policies. I reiterated that I had resigned from my government contract work and that my sole professional focus was Rangeman. Their relief was palatable.

I then began catching up on e-mails and reviewing past operational reports. I started with the oldest, and I stopped about halfway through. It's obvious, even in the impersonal text, that clients, vendors, and employees are disgruntled. Tanks "All-Hands" e-mail blasts are a critical record of his unlawful policies, but they are difficult to read.

I glance at the clock and see it's 2000 when Lester pokes his head into my door. "Did you eat?" he asks. I shake my head no. "It'll still be there tomorrow, Ranger. Your place or mine?" he says suggestively, waggling his eyebrows. I suppress the urge to roll my eyes.

Lester is right. Keeping things in balance is important. "Seven," I say, and he follows me up the stairs.

I open the door, and a meal for two is waiting on the kitchen table. "I know you so well," Lester teases, and I shake my head. Ella prepared one of my favorite comfort food meals. It's cliched, but I love _Ropa Vieja _with black beans, yellow rice, and fried plantains. I'm sure Steph would be shocked to see the limited number of vegetables on my plate. I know without looking there is flan set aside in the fridge.

"Ella loves you," Lester says before taking a big bite. "God, this is delicious."

I laugh, relax, and enjoy the meal. Lester and I clean up before grabbing a beer and settling onto the couch to mindlessly watch TV. "I called my financial advisor," Lester says suddenly. "I'm going to help you buy out Tank. I have a little more than $2 million in my reserves. It's only around 3%, but it has to help."

I look at Lester in surprise. "Thank you," I say, humbled, and clasp a hand on his shoulder.

By all accounts, things haven't great in Trenton since I returned from my mission, but I do see things improving already. Stephanie is listening and responding. I have a way forward with Rangeman. So why can't I sleep?

My phone rings, and I know it isn't going to be good news. "Yo," I bark, heading into the closet to pull on my combat gear.

"_Estefania _triggered her panic button," Hector says rapidly in Spanish. "I'll be waiting in the garage in two minutes," and he hangs up. Out of habit, I always have a ready set of tactical gear laid out, and I'm dressed and fully loaded in one minute. I run out of the apartment and meet Lester in the stairwell.

Hector is in the driver's seat of the Cayenne, and the garage door is open. He speeds out the moment I enter the passenger seat and Lester slams the rear door closed.

"Her tracker places her in the 609 Club, off of State Street," Hector says as Lester, and I finish setting up our comms equipment. "I called _Estefania's _phone; there's no answer. Did Connie tell you anything?" Hector finishes reporting, looking at the rearview mirror at Lester.

"No," Lester says tersely, shaking his head. He's about the say more when my phone rings.

"Babe," I answer immediately, but deliberately channel a calm voice honed from years of practice in crisis situations.

"I'm sorry," Steph replies, and her voice sounds so forlorn that my stomach twists. Why does she feel the need to apologize? There's a part of me that's afraid she's going to do something rash, and I won't be there in time.

"It's okay," I say, injecting as much comfort as I can. It won't help anyone if Steph panics. "I'm coming. Tell me where you are," I continue, hoping she can provide us some specifics about her situation.

"609 Club. Oscar Sanchez is FTA. I," Steph says, her voice laced with regret and self-loathing. "I couldn't do it. When I tried to leave, I was intercepted. I'm locked in a room on the second level, third door down on the right." Couldn't do what? It sounds like an apprehension gone wrong, but my gut says there is something more at play here.

"We're five minutes out, Babe. Keep talking to me," I respond, and Lester grabs my phone, placing it on mute and speaker.

"Fuck!" Lester exclaims. "We should have been notified Sanchez was FTA again." Lester looks enraged, but Hector looks murderous.

"Focus," I order. "What do I need to know?" There is a history here.

"Beautiful stole Sanchez's file from Vinnie about three months ago. Hector found out, and I intercepted Sanchez earlier that day. We made a deal. He agreed to go with me easily if I arranged security for his bar for two months. I didn't have the capture paperwork or a team with me, and a forcible takedown of Sanchez is risky. He's well-protected in that bar. I knew he was asking for security to cover the receipt and dispersal of a large cocaine and meth shipment, but it was either that or to endanger Stephanie. I agreed. When I arrived that night to take him in, Beautiful was already there in the middle of her set-up. I believe she was running a distraction job on her own, no tactics off limits," Lester reports.

I clench my jaw at the intense level of emotions that arise. I never run a distraction with less than six people and a complete planning process. For Steph to proceed solo shows a profound disregard for her safety.

"Steph was livid I stole her skip, and that was the night I confronted her in the alley, and she fought back. Capturing Sanchez is personal for her," Lester says.

"I saw _Estefania _a few hours ago, and she was agitated. She wasn't in a good place to be going out on an apprehension," Hector says tersely, and my chest tightens further. Tonight is partially my fault. I thought that walking away to give her space was best, but it seems I misread the situation.

"I'm not going to mince words, Ranger," Hector states. "_Angelita_ uses sex as punishment and as a means to an end. Know that, and be careful how you respond when you see her tonight. She's rattled. I'm guessing she was going to use the same approach as last time, but something happened, and she wanted to walk away. These aren't guys who take no for an answer," Hector finishes tersely, clutching the wheel tightly. I hear what Hector and Lester are telling me, and I don't allow myself the indulgence of an emotional reaction. My focus is on the task at hand.

"Patrol is en route and will arrive on the scene as we do," Lester reports, looking up from his phone. "Once we rendezvous with them, I'll take point and apprehend Sanchez. His number 2, Caesar Flores, will also be subdued. I've noted he has a special interest in Beautiful and is likely involved. Rodriguez is running a search on him now, and we'll take him down to the station if anything pops. Otherwise, I'll send a message. Ranger, Hector, you secure Stephanie. The preference is to take her car and return to her apartment. Tonight is the first time she's asked for help, and it will be important to her to maintain some level of privacy," Lester finishes hurriedly. "Hopefully, she'll finally tell someone what's been going on," he says more to himself than anyone else, and I set my lips in a thin line.

"Agreed," I state firmly. I hear rustling on the phone as Hector parks the car on a side street a block away from the bar. I see patrol approaching from the opposite direction.

"Don't get shot," Steph says quietly, and it seems her connection with me is as strong as ever. I take the phone off mute and speaker before opening the car door.

"Don't go crazy," I reply, launching myself into the night and hanging up.

"There's a back exit to the bar we can access via this pedestrian alleyway," Hal reports, flanked by Woody and Zip, and we quickly spread out and secure the space before abruptly entering the bar. I peel off with Hector covering my rear, using the disruption Lester and his team is providing to find Steph.

I take the stairs three at a time and approach the door Steph indicated. I test the knob, and when I see it requires a key to open, I throw my body at the faux wood door. It gives way immediately. I scan the room for Stephanie, unconsciously holding my breath as I search the space looking for her. Our eyes connect as she lowers her weapon, and I'm overcome with relief to see her standing and cognitive enough to defend herself.

Without thinking, I pull her against me and kiss the top of her hair. It's true that Steph's wardrobe has changed, and that her appearance gives her a hardened edge, but all I see are the blue eyes that, for just a second, flash brightly with hope. I could care less about what she's wearing or what she was doing. My Babe is with me now.

I verbally verify she is ambulatory, and we quickly exit through the front. Steph parked her car at the curb, and I provide cover while Hector secures Stephanie in the backseat, and we both sprint to the passenger side and speed away before we attract any additional unwanted attention. It isn't until we are a mile away that I begin to relax.

I look Stephanie over more carefully. Her posture is rigid, and she has her arms wrapped around her frame, still grasping her S&W. I have the impression she's holding herself together.

"Sanchez?" she asks, her voice wavering, and I slowly move closer to her.

"Lester is bringing him in," I reply evenly. Steph's gaze is unfocused, and her breathing is becoming shallower and wheezy. She's trembling slightly, and I subtly indicate to Hector to turn up the heat.

I wish I knew what Stephanie is thinking right now, and I'm beginning to understand Hector and Lester's frustrations. Then, as though she can read my mind, she mutters, "You guys do care." Hector's breath catches, and before I can formulate a response, Stephanie's emotions explode. The cry that erupts originates in her soul, and my primal instinct to protect and care for her rises within me.

I'm afraid of scaring her if I move too quickly, and I'm mindful that she's still armed. I gently place my hand over the one grasping the revolver, and thankfully, Steph allows me to take custody of it without resistance. I exhale a small sigh of relief while passing the weapon to Hector, who places it in the center console armrest storage, out of Steph's reach.

With that, I repress every urge in my body to hold my Babe as tightly as possible, and slowly place my arms on her shoulder blades, applying slight pressure to lean her towards me. She immediately sags against my chest, and I encircle my arms around her and tuck my nose in her hair. Steph reaches a hand out to Hector, resting it on his right shoulder. I see him rest his left palm on top of her fingers from my periphery vision, and Stephanie's walls crash down.

Her fingers clutch my thigh, and I sense that she's trying to desperately hold onto the present as she loses herself in her memories. She begins to cry "I'm sorry," over and over again as though she were begging for forgiveness that is seemingly out of reach.

"It's okay, Babe. You're safe," I attempt to soothe. "You can let it out." I can feel her approach the tipping point of beginning to calm when Steph stiffens. She squeezes her eyes tightly closed, and she pulls back, sitting upright. She begins to plead sorrowfully, "No, stop," while clamping her hands over her ears and giving small shakes of her head.

My chest constricts so tightly that it sends pins and needles through my hands and feet. My Babe is in real distress, and I'm desperately praying Hector and I find a way to keep her from closing us out again. I know she is retreating into herself, and I feel helpless to prevent it. "Babe, Stephanie," I say slightly louder, trying to get her to open her eyes.

Hector pulls into Stephanie's garage and shuts off the vehicle before unbuckling and turning in his seat to face me. Hector and Stephanie have forged a friendship in her year of need while I've been on the other side of the world, and he understands the woman before me better than I do right now. He looks between us and rapidly moves around the Honda to open Steph's side. "Babe," I try again, placing my hands over hers. Her eyes fly open, but her gaze is wild and unfocused. She begins pushing away, and I move my hands but keep them open in front of me to appear as unthreatening as possible.

I look beyond the door and observe Hector crouched on the other side. Steph begins scrambling to get out of the backseat, but she's unsteady, and Hector moves to support her as she looks around, trying to get her bearings. "_Estefania_," I hear Hector say loudly. She stops swiveling her head and locks on him with a confused expression. I rapidly move so that I'm behind her, but I keep a small distance. Steph rubs her ears again, and I know where I've seen people do that before.

If someone fires a weapon without hearing protection in close quarters or is repeatedly exposed to loud sounds, they can develop tinnitus, a ringing tone in the ears. With guys who struggle with the aftermath of a combat situation, the ringing becomes associated with the experience and stress. I'm guessing Stephanie _can't _hear us, and it's adding to her confusion and distress.

"_Estefania_," Hector tries again, and Steph rubs her ears once and stills, her eyes locked on Hector. She nods her understanding, and I can tell she's gaining a better grasp of her surroundings, and it's grounding her.

Hector unlocks the door, and I enter first, clearing the space with my weapon drawn. It takes me about two seconds to clear her apartment because it is so small. I place myself against the far wall to give Stephanie as much freedom of movement as possible, but she stands in the space between the bathroom and closet looking lost. Hector is between her and the exit, and he glances at me for leadership.

"Babe," I try again, and her eyes shift between Hector and myself. I look at Hector. "She can't hear us. I'm guessing tinnitus amplified by stress. What does she normally do when she comes home? What's her routine?" I direct my questions at Hector.

Hector looks back to Stephanie. "_Estefania_, I'm going to help you take off your jacket," he says, moving slowly with his hands in front of him. She watches him warily but accepts his aid as he slides the leather off of her shoulders and hangs it onto a hook near the door. Hector pulls her keys out of his pocket and makes a show of hanging it on a nail protruding from the narrow wall between the kitchen and front door. I see Steph relax, and I let out a small breath.

Stephanie bends to begin unzipping her boots, but the movement is stiff. Hector crouches and resumes the task for her. I'm surprised when Steph pulls a switchblade out of a pocket inside each boot. Hector takes them silently and reaches behind to pass them to me when Steph looks away while stepping out of the shoes. I set them next to Rex and place my weapon beside it. If disarming is how Steph feels safe and relaxes, I am going to join her. She looks at me directly for the first time since I entered her apartment. I slowly unzip my flak jacket while reassessing her. Steph looks small, vulnerable, and sad, and I'm not sure my heart will survive this night.

Hector places his Kevlar jacket on the ground next to mine. "_Estefania_ needs to change her clothes," Hector says, opening a kitchen cupboard. I would laugh right now if the situation weren't so serious; only Stephanie would use the kitchen to store clothes. "Do you trust her alone?"

"Is there anything she can use in the bathroom to hurt herself?" I reply quietly. "I don't want to invade her privacy further and potentially spook her."

Hector sets the clothes down on the toilet and does a quick sweep of the bathroom. He stealthily removes her razor from the shower before standing in front of Steph again. "_Angelita_, any other weapons?" he asks. I raise an eyebrow. That dress is so small and tight, and my Babe was always so opposed to weapons, it's hard for me to imagine her being any more armed than she was. On top of that, I realize, I don't even know what else she had hidden in her jacket.

I watch in sobering astonishment as Steph removes three razor blades from a fold of fabric. Hector leads Steph into the bathroom, and she responds quickly to his direction. Hector immediately moves to the jacket and pulls out a second gun, third knife, and a set of handcuffs. He rapidly takes everything and shoves it into a half-empty kitchen drawer before returning to knock on the bathroom door. I'm grateful he is here and has been here for my Babe, and that they have this level of rapport and understanding between each other. It can only help her moving forward.

I use the minute to take a closer look at Stephanie's home. She barricaded the lone window, and it's a poorly lit space with a single bulb hanging from the ceiling. The only furniture of hers that I recognize is the TV and Rex's cage, and I wonder if she abandoned her property at her old apartment. It would help explain how she managed to move in a day while injured. My original assessment of shithole was generous. Everything is shabby and worn, but I can tell Steph has tried to keep it clean. The air is musty, stale, damp, and cool. I only see a single baseboard heater along the wall below the window. I hate that this is where she lives. I've freed hostages from better situations.

Steph opens the door and leaves it open while she finishes washing up. Make-up free in a baggy sweatshirt and loose cotton pants, she looks the more like the Stephanie I remember. She exits the bathroom with more confident movements, and I think she's becoming more stable. Steph pulls open the accordion style closet door and tosses her dress in before pulling down a first aid kit. Is she injured?

I glance at Hector, and he's busily soaking several paper towels. I move deliberately towards Steph as she sits on the edge of the futon, taking the kit from her hands and unzipping it.

"Babe?" I ask, and she gives another small shake of her head while turning to look at me. "Babe? Can you hear me?" I repeat. She acknowledges me wordlessly, but it's a big relief to see her calming down.

"What's hurt?" I ask, and she pushes herself back to support herself against the wall before pulling up her right pants leg. I see her calf covered in dry streaks of blood, and Hector immediately begins wiping it clean. It takes about a minute for us to see the cut, and it's an abrasion from a fall. The laceration is straight, and I'm guessing it's from the stairs. I immediately push aside my fury. Lester will take care of Sanchez and Flores.

Steph has her eyes closed, but her expression is neutral. She appears to be making some decisions and based on how things have gone so far; I'm apprehensive about how this conversation is going to proceed. The worst thing would be for Steph to lock herself down again and shut us out. She can't keep going on the way things are. I don't think Steph has spoken about her experiences with anyone since Farro. Hector some, sure, but I suspect that even there it's a more of a silent partnership.

Hector cleans up the waste and places the first aid kit back in the closet before returning with a glass of water and pushing it into Stephanie's hands. His actions are so assured and Steph's reaction so automatic, I wonder how many times he's tended to her after an injury. Hector's first words to me take on even greater meaning.

_You will have one chance with her. Estefania has changed. She will not trust you, and you will need to be forgiving. I have worked very hard to keep her alive, beginning with her soul. If you push her away or break her heart, it will destroy her, and I don't think there is anything I will be able to do to stop it. Think carefully. You need to be all in._

He said more than I understood at the time, and I know I will never be able to repay the man on Stephanie's right.

Stephanie passes the glass back to Hector and stares at the wall. Steph appears lucid and resolute, but when she begins to talk, dread settles like a rock in the pit of my stomach. She's pushing us away.

"Babe, we're not going anywhere," I immediately reply with equal measures firmness and kindness.

Steph stands, despite the fact I can see it's causing her pain and digs in her proverbial heels. She's pushing us away because she believes that she is a danger to us?

I ask a question, relieved she is continuing to talk. Perhaps we can unravel some of her logic this way. I consciously separate my emotions from the present situation. I need to stay focused so I can understand best how to help Steph. While it seems ridiculous to me that she thinks she is going to hell, Stephanie is an intelligent person who has a good reason for reaching that conclusion.

Steph begins to look frustrated. "_Estefania_, what do you mean?" Hector says, and I keep my attention riveted on my Babe.

A look of complete confidence crosses her face. "I'm a murderer! I get involved, and people die," Steph says. I listen to the rest of her justification, and it clicks. I replay Bobby's explanation mentally as she explains her point of view; Stephanie _is_ Vietnam, but it's worse than I ever suspected.

I lean forward slightly before calmly asking, "What did Farro say to you?"

Stephanie's entire demeanor changes. "What?" she gasps, paling and leaning against the wall.

"As Farro was dying, what did he say to you?" I repeat, my internal radar pinging loudly. Whatever Farro said to her as he lied there dying is the heart of Stephanie's issues.

Steph's expression grows distant, and she begins to recant her story with the aura of someone divided between the past and the present. My Babe entered a living hell, and when she was most vulnerable, her support network fell apart. Her community placed her in the center of blame. My men inadvertently alienated her. Everything in her life reinforced Farro's last words, and she believes him. That belief changed her perception of her place in the world.

I listen to Steph pour out her soul, and it takes every ounce of focus I have to push down my feelings and work my way through her words. Stephanie sees herself as morally broken, and it appears she's been living the past several months seeking redemption. I know better than most how futile that path is. It took me a while to learn that living focused on the past robbed me of the present. As a result of believing her actions cause harm, Steph continues to assume blame for everything else that might go wrong and takes that as reinforcement of her perceptions.

Then I get it, and my heart breaks. Stephanie believes that she is a bad person. She believes her soul is damaged to the point that it affects her relationships with others and has skewed her perceptions. Further, she sees herself as unworthy of love due to the sin she believes she has committed and will inevitably commit.

Hector and I stand, and Steph seems to fold in on herself in resignation. I know I can no longer close my heart. I have to be willing to endure rejection in order to allow both Steph and I to be free.

"Babe, I love you," I say, my tone leaving no space for misunderstanding. I'm all in.

Stephanie wraps her arms around herself, and I take a slow step forward.

"I love you," I say again, my heart pounding with the desperation I feel that these words penetrate Stephanie's walls.

"You can't," she whispers.

"_Te amo, Angelita_," Hector repeats, and she lifts her gaze slightly. Her blue eyes rimmed with tears.

"I do, Babe. I. Love. You," I say slowly, punctuating each word with sincerity.

"How?" Stephanie breathes, and my breath catches at the blinding flash of hope I see looking back at me.

"I know you, Babe," I respond passionately. "Further, I know what happened. Farro was _not_ your fault. The weapon discharged accidentally, and even if it hadn't, you always have the right to defend yourself. I _know_ he tried to kill you, and when he failed to do so, he tried to kill your spirit. I understand why you feel the way you do. Hector and I have experienced what it is like to take a life, and we have felt many of the things you are feeling. Your heart is so big and so good, that his death, especially when you identified with him as a husband and father became personal to you. That is a difficult thing to deal with if you have a support network. You found yourself alone, except for Hector, and I can see why you have the perspectives you do," I gently but emphatically explain. "But Babe, please be open to the possibility that your assumptions are incorrect."

Steph's eyes bore into me, and I take another small step forward. "_You_ are a good person. Yes, you, like everyone, make mistakes, but you have the intention of doing the right thing. _You _are filled with light, and I have seen the good your light leaves wherever it shines. _You _are worthy of love," I say, internally pleading with her to listen to me.

"How do you know what happened?" Stephanie asks, her brows furrowed together.

"I read the file, and, with the help of the Core Team, I was able to piece together the series of events. Babe, you did the best you could, and I'm grateful you were the one who walked out of that room. His death was not your fault," I say firmly, wanting to convey my confidence.

"But I stood by and did nothing. I stood there and let Farro die," Steph says in a trembling voice.

"That doesn't mean it's your fault, _Angelita_," Hector says, reinforcing me.

"Babe, he assaulted you and tried to execute you," I say. "You had every reason to not to trust him and to keep a safe distance. You have an inherent right to self-defense."

Stephanie looks between Hector and me. "But the next morning, what the guys said. Tank said that I'm impossible, stubborn and that I refuse to change. I have trained and changed, but things still happen. It's me," she says heavily, looking down again.

"Tank is an idiot," Hector retorts, and Steph glances at him in surprise. "You can't control what other people do, and you have a difficult job. When people go FTA, they aren't usually happy you show up to take them back to jail. How many skips have you captured this year?"

"Around four hundred and twenty," Steph responds. I raise my eyebrows in surprise. That's a considerable number.

"What's your success rate?" Hector presses.

"Ninety-nine percent," Steph responds.

"Babe, those are incredible statistics. How does it compare to Rangeman?" I ask, glancing at Hector.

"Rangeman has brought in three hundred and eighty-three skips with a success rate of ninety-one percent, and our casualty rates are higher," Hector says. "You have trained, you are intelligent, and you are capable, _Estefania._ You also don't have to be alone or take the risks you do."

Hector places a hand on the side of Steph's arm. "_Mi Angelita_, after _mi Hermana _died, I thought my heart died with her. I exacted my revenge, but inside, I remained dark. I existed and survived, and then I met Ranger. I found him trustworthy, honorable, and I will always have his back. He was the best person I knew until I met you. Everyone and I mean everyone, was afraid of me, and for a good reason. You, however, looked beyond what I showed everyone, and you loved me anyway. Do you remember that day at the cemetery?" he says with more emotion than I've ever heard from Hector. Steph nods yes, her chin quivering.

"I felt much as you do now. I did kill a man, and I did it on purpose. I carried the guilt and weight of that day with me, and I never mourned _mi Hermana's_ death. I planned to kill myself the day you brought me to her grave, and your unwavering love and support showed me that my life's future is more than my past. That's why I call you my angel. You saved me by being you. _Te amo, Angelita_," he says, a single tear falling past the ones inked on his face.

"I did the right thing?" Steph whispers, desperately looking between us.

"Yes, Babe," I respond, placing a hand on her opposite arm as Hector nods his head in affirmation.

"But I've not been very good to myself this year. If you only knew," Steph trails off, and I feel the shame radiating from her.

"Babe, I meant what I said at the park. It doesn't matter to me what you've done, who you've slept with, who you've killed or hurt, or anything else. It matters to me who you are, and you are the best person I know. You don't even need forgiveness," I say, pouring my emotions into every word, desperately wanting her to accept what I'm saying.

"You would love me anyway?" she questions with such fragility that any unbroken pieces of my heart left are instantly decimated.

"Unconditionally," I fervently reply.

"Always," Hectors says thickly.

Stephanie takes a step forward and places her head on my chest while wrapping her left arm around Hector's waist. I feel the wetness of her tears, but her sadness is quiet. She breathes heavily as she sobs, and I begin to feel her lean more of her weight against me.

"I'm going to lift you," I say quietly, and she nods her consent against my chest. I crouch slightly and sweep an arm under her legs. The hand that was gripping Hector now grips my shirt, and I sit and push back so that my back rests against the wall, attempting to keep Steph as steady as possible. Hector finds some tissues and refills her water before sitting down again, rubbing slow circles on her back. This response is the exact opposite of the one in the car. It feels as though Steph is deciding to stop fighting and is letting go, and I hope, allowing herself to trust us. I feel the slight quiver of her body still, and she relaxes completely against me.

Steph turns her head slightly to the side but remains pressed against me. "I want to believe you, even though it is difficult. Please stay," she says quietly, before turning her face back into my chest as she coughs, and I kiss the top of her head in response, too choked up to say anything. A side glance at Hector shows me he feels the same way.

Not five minutes later, Stephanie is sound asleep, her body rising and falling in a slow rhythm. I rest my head against the wall. "_Gracias a Dios, ella está regresando a nosotros_," I mumble. (Thank God, she's coming back to us.)

"_Si_," Hector agrees before smoothly standing. (Yes.)

He adjusts the pillows and blanket as best as he can. "Lay her down and take care of yourself," he instructs. "I'll keep watch."

Hector helps me do so, and I'm relieved Steph doesn't even flinch. I walk to the bathroom and take a few steadying breaths as the emotional overload of the last several hours bubbles to the surface. I acknowledge and let go of the fear, anxiety, sadness, and worry, and replace it with optimism and hope. No, tonight didn't fix everything, and Steph has a long road ahead to full recovery, but for the first time since my return, I truly believe she will survive this and be stronger.

I step out of the bathroom and leave the door open a crack to provide a ray of light in the now darkened apartment. I stealthily pad to the kitchen and remove my belt, setting it on top of my flak jacket. Any additional gear tucked into my cargo pockets soon joins it. Stephanie made a big leap tonight, and I don't know when I'll be prepared to let her out of my or Hector's sight, but she isn't ready for me to be unduly familiar with her. I will otherwise sleep fully clothed. I pull my phone out of my pocket and check my messages.

"Sanchez is in lock-up. The cops wanted Flores on several felony charges, and Lester brought him in on a citizen's arrest," I quietly inform Hector before texting Lester back my acknowledgment.

He immediately texts: _How's Beautiful?_

_She's doing better. Did you find out why we didn't know about Sanchez? _I respond.

_Tank. _Lester types out with an angry face emoji, and I put the phone away.

I motion for Hector to join me near the apartment exit. "Tank knew Stephanie had the Sanchez file and withheld the information from the Core Team," I whisper, and Hector's expression hardens. "I'm going to force Tank out of Rangeman before close of business tomorrow," I continue. "The by-laws state a Core Team member can be removed, but the terms include buying him or her out of their shares. My accountant is valuing every asset I have, and I should be able to execute the force out tomorrow evening. I know one of the reasons I not only have Stephanie to come back to but also a company is you. I'm telling you my plan because I believe you've more than earned the right to have a seat at the table. The buyout is around fifteen and a half million dollars. Lester is contributing a little more than two million, which is three percent of Rangeman shares. I would be honored to have you as a Core Team member of Rangeman, Hector. The decision is yours, but I need to know by mid-day tomorrow. Thank you isn't enough for everything you have done," I say seriously.

"_Gracias, jefe_," Hector replies, pressing his lips together. (Thank you, boss.)

"Are you staying here or at Rangeman tonight?" I ask.

"Here," Hector replies. "I'll make a bed on the floor."

"Okay. We'll figure out the rest in the morning," I state before moving back to the futon and sliding in next to my Babe. She rolls into me immediately, clutching my shirt, but her breathing never changes tempo.

"I love you, Babe," I whisper into her hair before closing my eyes and letting exhaustion consume me.

* * *

**A/N:** Happy St. Patrick's Day! In the spirit of the holiday, here's an early chapter for my lucky readers – and blarney, an extra-long one as well! I haven't had a moment this week to reply to everyone's comments, but I feel like the luckiest writer in FanFiction to have received so many wonderful messages. You guys are thoughtful, amazing, and your feedback makes a big difference in my writing. THANK YOU!

Misty23y – so many thanks. Your contributions are the pot of gold at the end of my creative writing rainbow. Too goofy an analogy? Nah.


	10. Chapter 10

**Disclaimer:** Anything recognizable belongs to Janet Evanovich, and the rest is mine. I'm grateful she lets us play.

**Warning:** Dark fic. Adult language, adult content, violence, smut. This is written for mature audiences only.

* * *

**Chapter 10**

**Stephanie's POV**

_**Bang! Bang! Bang!**__ I hit the door with the side of my closed fist. I'm about to try again when the door is ripped open in front of me. _

"_Who are you?" gruffly asks the six foot one, two hundred and fifteen pounds of unkempt, pushing fifty Caucasian male._

"_Mr. Eric Farro?" I question, my hand over my cuffs and taser._

"_What's it to you?" he answers, narrowing his eyes._

"_Bond enforcement. You missed your court date. I'm here to help you reschedule," I say professionally. _

"_A little girl like you is going to take me in?" Farro says incredulously before laughing. He placed his hand on the knob and began pushing the door closed. _

_I quickly pull out the taser and catch him on his forearm. He gives out a high-pitched squeal and falls to his knees twitching. Seeing big assholes reduced to a quivering mess by a "little girl like me" never ceases to be amusing. I take a position behind Farro and place his left wrist in the cuffs. I move to secure the second wrist when Farro regains some of his strength and pushes me back hard enough that I land with an unceremonious thump on my ass. _

_He doesn't have all of his coordination back but manages to roll on top of me so that I am effectively pinned down by his weight. I begin to squirm underneath the dead weight of his body in an attempt to break free or at least be able to reach my stun gun again. _

"_You're turning me on, little girl," Farro says into my ear with a dark chuckle before licking the side of my face. I swallow bile against his stale beer breath as he begins to grind against me. I gag against my vomit when I feel his erection pressing roughly against my leg. Farro jerks an arm to coarsely grab my right breast. He plants a sloppy kiss on my cheek as I turn my head violently away. "I bet a classy girl like you prefers a little romance first," he leers._

"_Get the fuck off me," I say, increasing my attempts to find a way to break free._

"_Oh, so the bitch likes to play hard to get," he sneers before punching my temple. I see stars, and my vision narrows as my heart rate increases. It's not the first time that an FTA is attacking me, and I immediately tell myself to focus. I recover faster than Farro expects, and I use the opportunity of his raised torso and fists to roll to the side. I don't get far, but it's enough for me to free my arms. _

_I reach for my stun gun again as Farro rises to his knees and pulls a handgun off of a side table and aims it at me. I freeze as I stare at the barrel, inches away from my face, pointed directly between my eyeballs. "On your knees, bitch," Farro commands, his voice hard._

_I slowly move into position as commanded, keeping my hands where he can see them. I'm barely breathing as I wonder if this is it. The world drops away from around me, and the only thing that exists is Farro and myself. When I'm almost fully upright, a seizure from the aftereffects of the taser on Farro's arm causes him to tremble and drop the gun. I lunge for it immediately, my heart pounding in my ears. _

_I grab it a half second before him, and we fight for control with his hand covering mine over the trigger. He begins to push the handgun so that it's pointed at me, but the angle of my wrist makes the motion awkward, and his large fingers are struggling to gain space to control the trigger. Farro is off-balance as he tries to wrestle the gun from me, and I use the opportunity to launch myself upward from the balls of my feet and through my legs. _

_I keep my finger on the trigger of the handgun, but Farro holds his hand over mine. As I push Farro backward, he leverages the control he has over my shooting hand to twist me over him, and I feel a bone in my wrist snap. I cry out in pain, and my fingers reflexively curl inward._

_Time seems to stand still. The gun recoils in my hand and sends a jolt through my body. The BANG reverberates in my ears. I feel the drops of blood sticking to my skin. Farro falls, and I do nothing._

"_You killed me, bitch, all because you wouldn't spread your legs like a good girl. Do you see that picture on the fridge? That's my wife, Stella, and my daughter, Amber. Are you going to tell them you're the reason I'm dead? That you stood there and did nothing as you watched me die?" he coughs and spits up blood. "Or are you going to slither away knowing you're a killer who destroyed a family?" he says, lacing as much venom as he can in his fading words._

"_You're. A. Murderer," Farro says, his last words seeping my heart like his blood into the carpet. "Live with that."_

I stand there in frozen shock, as I have the past three hundred and eleven nights. Then, something new happens. I feel a lightness, and I'm floating, weightless, lifting like a helium balloon, until I reach the ceiling. I look below and see Farro and myself, each debating the other's morality.

_Did I die?_ I watch myself dash into the bathroom, and I connect myself to the movement. _No, I'm alive._

_But are you?_ I hear a voice whisper, and my eyes widen in contemplation.

I see Tank and Lester enter the room followed by Eddie. TPD enters and begins securing the scene. The ME arrives, confirms Farro is dead before loading the sheet-clad body onto a stretcher. Soon, they take the last photograph, the cops tuck the last notepad away, and everyone leaves. I float above it all, and no one notices me.

I want to see if I gained the ability to fly, so I mentally focus on a pushing motion. I'm thrilled by the sense of soaring, but the small apartment is confining. I aim towards the window, stunned when I bounce back off the glass. I change course to the door, but I can't go through it, and my hand dissolves around the knob. I'm trapped.

_What do I do now?_ I wonder.

_What do you want to do?_ I hear the voice whisper again, and I look around for the source.

_What can I do?_ I respond, lazily floating above the stain left by Farro's blood. _Is this my purgatory? Is this where I find my moral redemption? Am I damned here because of the life I took? _I think with growing agitation.

_Or are you damning yourself? _Comes the whisper.

My entire encounter with Farro plays over and over in my mind, the events happening vividly as my imagination brings the forms to life in the apartment. At first, all I feel is the horror and shock, but then I begin to see things differently.

_Why should it be a choice between me spreading my legs and Farro's life? I have the right to say no. My body is my own, and I don't owe sex to anyone because they demand it. _The thoughts sound obvious, but many things, beginning with Morelli at age six and then sixteen, most of my college dating experiences and through Dickie indicate I haven't lived feeling as though my body or sexuality is respected. No one should be upset with me if I don't want to have a sexual encounter with them. I knew that on the surface, but I didn't understand it.

_Am I the reason Farro is dead?_ Sure, my finger was over the trigger. But his hand was over mine, and he was the one who introduced the weapon into the situation. My brain freezes on the image of him pointing the barrel between my eyes. He would have killed me without a second thought, and I'm sure he wouldn't have rendered aid afterward. I feel his hand pulling against mine as he flipped me over his body. Farro killed Farro.

He set out to kill my spirit when he couldn't kill me, and here I am-_Trapped._

_Are you?_ The voice whispers again.

I still and look around the empty room. Do I have a choice whether or not I live a half-life stuck in this memory or not? If I want to leave, what do I need to understand? Then the epiphany hits me so hard I begin to tremble. _It's not my fault. _ _I have the right to say no, and my life is worth valuing. I have the right to want to live. _

_Then live_. The words float around my body, swirling like a tornado of light, and I feel myself being sucked through time and space before finding home again. I sit up straight with a _gasp. _My heart is pounding, and I pat myself all over.

_I'm me, and I'm alive_.

"Babe?" I hear from beside me. "Are you okay?"

Ranger! I turn and launch myself at him, sitting on his lap with my ankles crossed around his waist and my arms entwined around his neck. "You're here," I whispered, beginning to cry.

"Shhh, Babe, yes, I'm here, and I'm not going anywhere," he soothes, rubbing my back.

The realizations from my dream cling to my heart like the frail roots of a fresh spring wildflower desperately seeking sunlight and water. "It's not my fault," I sob quietly.

"No, Babe, it's not your fault," Ranger responds confidently, and the roots find new depth.

"He didn't die because I said no to sex. I have the right to say no," I continue with a quivering voice, needing his affirmation.

Ranger holds me closer to him. "You always have the right to say no," he immediately responds.

The flower grows, and the closed buds twist, urgently seeking the sun. "My life is worth valuing. I have the right to want to live, and I am worth loving. I am good," I say with desperate hope.

"Oh Babe," Ranger sighs, placing his cheek against mine. I feel his tears mingle with mine. "Yes, yes, and yes. You are an amazing person. I love you."

In a burst, the flower blooms with delicate petals that unfold themselves as the same light that swept me from the room falls over it and seeps into the ground.

I cling to Ranger as I sob, needing and wanting his touch. I allow myself to feel the extreme fear and sadness of that day for the first time, secure in the knowledge that Ranger won't let me go, won't let me fall, and won't judge me. In acknowledging the emotions I've worked desperately hard to ignore, I recognize that something deep within my heart begins to heal. I want to heal. I want to live.

I feel a dip on the futon beside me, and I whip my head over. I'm surprised to see the person beside me, faintly illuminated from a light crack around the bathroom door. "Hector," I say with a voice ragged from crying, pausing to cough. "You're still here, too."

Hector places a comforting hand on my back, and I know he is telling me _always_. I twist off Ranger's lap and turn to face him, taking his hand in mine. "I'm sorry, Hector. I didn't understand what you kept trying to tell me, and God knows I've pushed you away enough times that there is no reason for you to be here now," I sniffle. "I'm glad you stayed. Thank you for being my friend."

"_Te amo, Angelita_," Hector says gently before kissing my forehead and enveloping me in a hug.

"What time is it?" I ask, suppressing a yawn as we pull apart.

"0400," Ranger says from behind me, and I lean against him. "Back to sleep?"

"Yes, sounds good," I say affirmatively, as Hector stands and returns to makeshift bedroll he created on the floor near the entrance. That must be incredibly uncomfortable, and it visualizes all the sacrifices he's made on my behalf these past few months.

Ranger wraps me in his arms, and I push back against him, feeling safer than I have in months. And, also for the first time since Farro's death, I do fall asleep after waking from a dream.

When I wake again, I feel more rested, but I have an underlying sense of exhaustion. I take a deep breath, cough, and open my eyes to the smell of coffee. "Good morning, Babe," Ranger says, easily releasing me as I move to sit up. I stretch my body, stiff from being still for so long. Hector is pouring a cup from the drip machine, and I stand to turn on the kitchen light. My leg hitches as I realize my knee is sore the morning after. I limp into the bathroom to relieve myself, and I desperately want a shower to wash yesterday away.

I step out, unused to having company of any sort, to gather some clothes and invite anyone else to use the restroom first. "Uh, hey guys," I started awkwardly. "Want a turn?" I ask, tilting my head to the bathroom. Hector pushes a cup of coffee my way across the counter, while Ranger nods once and steps inside. I walk into the fridge, pull out the box of pizza, and pick up my half-eaten slice from yesterday.

Hector narrows his eyes at me. "Have you eaten anything else since yesterday, _Estefania_?" he asks suspiciously. I shrug, coughing again. He looks back into the fridge and sighs as he sees a jar of olives in the door, alone and unafraid.

I finish the slice and swallow the coffee in a long gulp before refilling the cup with lukewarm water from the faucet. I refresh Rex's water and add a couple of bits of hamster kibble from a bag in the cupboard. "I think the hamster eats better than you," Hector chides. My first instinct is to ignore him as I always do, but I stop.

"Thanks for caring," I say, looking down at Rex, my fingers wrapped around the counter ledge. "I'm beginning to see things in a new way, and I want my life to be better."

Hector stands beside me and places his hand next to mine. "You don't know how much I've wanted to hear you say that," he says thickly. I rest my head on his shoulder as we both absorb the magnitude of changes last night's revelations wrought.

I stand up straight again as the bathroom door opens, and Ranger walks out looking as perfect as ever. I think the five o'clock shadow might even increase his sexy ruggedness. I pour him a cup of coffee and set it next to the open pizza box, snagging a second slice. Ranger picks up one and joins me. Things have changed.

I finish, rinse off my hands, and limp back to the futon. I feel Ranger's eyes follow me the entire distance. He sits beside me a second later.

"How are you doing, Babe?" he asks kindly but with a hint of concern.

I sit quietly, considering my answer. "Okay," I finally say. "I see that my life needs to change. It's difficult for me to trust anyone, but I'm choosing to trust you and Hector. I'm nervous about what's going to happen when we leave my home today, and the uncertainty is making me anxious. I think I feel a little lost," I say honestly, fidgeting with my nails.

Ranger wraps an arm around my shoulders. "I'm here for you. We can do this together," Ranger says gently. I swallow down the lump that forms in my throat and nod my understanding.

"I know things have been difficult between you and Tank, Lester, and Bobby, and that has kept you away from Rangeman. I've spoken at length with Lester, and he wants me to let you know how sorry he is, and that he would like an opportunity to tell you that himself. I believe he is genuine. Bobby cares, but for being someone who takes care of patients, he sometimes forgets the person in favor of the clinical puzzle. However, he wants to do the right thing. Tank," Ranger stops, shaking his head. "Tank isn't the person I thought he was."

I stand to get an ice pack from the freezer and sit down again next to Ranger, coughing as I do, and place it over my knee. I suspect I wrenched it when I fell last night, and my boots certainly didn't help. "Why are you telling me this, and what are you going to do about Tank?" I eventually ask.

Ranger helps adjust a pillow behind my back and pulls my leg onto his lap. "I don't want to leave you alone, and I have to go back to Rangeman today. I'm going to force Tank out of the company this afternoon by buying him out. His management of the company, aside from creating a company culture that is in opposition to my most important beliefs, violates several laws. I'm not even sure this will be enough to save Rangeman, but it's a start. I'll also be offering a settlement to all employees affected by Tank's actions with a generous severance package if they decide to seek employment elsewhere by the end of the week. Even more importantly, as far as I'm concerned, I've discovered that Tank paid Vinnie to ensure you were given FTA files outside of your ability, and he also paid him a kicker if you got hurt. I'm angrier than I can say about this betrayal. I'm telling you this in confidence, because I trust you, and because I'm asking you to come with me to Rangeman today," Range says solemnly.

I stare fixedly at the wall as I absorb this information. I haven't done myself any favors the past several months, and I chose to take files from the Rangeman stack. However, that Tank and Vinnie were manipulating me to take the files, hoping I would get hurt, hardens my heart against them.

"How much does it cost to buy Tank out?" I ask, searching Ranger's face.

He sighs. "Around fifteen and a half million, give or take a couple hundred thousand. I have it, but it will take considerable downsizing on my part. Doing the right thing is worth it, however," Ranger says resignedly, and I see the stress in the fine lines around his eyes.

I glance over and see that at some point Hector began listening to our conversation from the breakfast bar. I make an easy decision and start to pull myself off of the futon. I gimp my way to the closet, pull out the hamper and ease myself onto the floor. "Babe?" Ranger says, standing and watching me with a quizzical look.

I cough into my arm, pull out the wall panel, and open the safe. I snag a duffle bag and place it in my lap before putting a few hundred stacks of hundred-dollar bills inside. I upgraded the safe myself a couple of months ago, and now there are two hidden in the wall. I push the bag towards Ranger before accepting his outreached hand and standing.

"All I've done this past year is survive and bounty hunting. I've been better at bounty hunting than taking care of myself. Of the four hundred and twenty or so FTA's I've captured, around thirty were bonds over a half million dollars, and another hundred were more than two hundred thousand. I've lived like a pauper on purpose the past couple of years, wanting to save enough money to pay you back. That's three and a half million dollars. It's yours," I say, looking down and pointing to the bag.

"Babe, I can't take your money," Ranger starts, and I cut him off.

"I've taken yours when I needed it. You can, and you will. Consider me a silent partner if that makes it easier," I retort vehemently. I give a small squeak of surprise when Ranger wraps me in a hug so tight it forces the air out of my lungs and picks me up so that my feet are dangling.

"Thank you, Babe," he says into my ear, kissing the side of my hair on the curly side and gently setting me back onto my feet.

"Alright then," I say, uncomfortable with so much affection. I wipe my palms on my thighs and sigh in resignation. "I'll go with you to Rangeman, but I have some conditions. I am willing to talk to Lester and Bobby, closed door. I will not talk to Tank, and you or Hector will be with me at all times. I don't want to be on five, and I don't want to be swarmed by a bunch of people," I state, my blank face slipping into place. I stop and look away, pursing my lips.

_It's okay, Steph,_ I coach myself. _Trust and don't close yourself off. _

My shoulders droop. "I know something has to change in my life, but I don't know how to start, and I don't want to be alone," I mumble.

"I'm proud of you, Babe," Ranger says softly, placing a hand gently on my bicep. I look up in surprise. "Thank you for agreeing to come to Rangeman with me. Hector or I will stay with you. I don't want to push you too hard, but I do have some ideas on how we can help you. Maybe we can talk about that a little later?" he says, his tone leaving the question open-ended.

"Okay," I agree, moving to the kitchen to pick out some clothes for the day. I stifle a groan as I try to squat to pull out a dark turquoise, v-neck shirt and pair of loose-fitting black trousers. I don't want anything tight around my knee today. Hector intercepts my efforts and pulls the garments out for me.

I turn around and take my razor out of the kitchen drawer behind me, and Hector chuckles under his breath. "Would it be alright if I took a look at your knee before you shower?" Ranger asks. I pass my stack to Hector, who places it in the restroom as I sit beside Ranger.

"That's fine. I need to take the bandages off anyway," I agree, pulling up my pants leg and ripping off the bandages.

The knee is black and blue and swollen. It's red around the edges of the cut. "I think it's infected, Babe," Ranger says, glancing at me with concern. "A medical professional needs to examine and treat this. Is Bobby okay, or would you like to go to a clinic?" he queries, looking at me more closely. "Are you sure you're feeling alright?"

"I'll talk to Bobby today and then decide," I answer, hedging, coughing. "It's just a cold that won't go away. I saw a doctor a few weeks ago." Ranger doesn't push.

I take a long shower and allow the water to wash away the past twenty-four hours. Tears spring to my eyes, and I let them blend into the shower stream. _I'm proud of you, Babe. _I haven't felt proud of myself in, well, I can't remember. _I'm here for you. We can do this together._

I'm beginning to feel an old, familiar spark inside that wants to be ignited into a flame, but I'm struggling to clear away the debris and allow the fire to thrive. My demons love the darkness, and that darkness isn't going to retreat easily. I feel a desperation for change swell up inside me, and I beat my first against the wall.

_You don't have to be alone. I love you._

Hector and Ranger have always been there for me, no matter how terrible I've been. Maybe I can abandon my defenses and truly trust and lean on them while I learn a new way to be strong. Maybe I can learn to love myself again. More than anything, I want to feel love again.

I finish my shower with a sniffle and dress, standing in my panties while I let my wound air dry. I opt for less make-up than usual but still apply several coats of waterproof mascara. I finish dressing and pull the first aid kit out of the closet before sitting down. Ranger is sitting beside me to assist the next second.

"Are you ready, Babe?" he asks, closing up the kit.

"Not yet," I reply, moving with an uneven gait to the kitchen and pulling my knives and weapons out of the drawer as well as a few more I've hidden in various cabinets. I choose my armament for the day and return any unneeded items to their nooks and crannies. "Now I'm ready," I state, jacket on and steel-toed boots laced.

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**A/N:** In honor of the first day of spring, which always brings me a lot of joy, I was inspired to post this bonus chapter. I've had a very busy week on top of fighting a chest cold, and I apologize for my delay in responding to your comments. I've set aside some time before the week's end to do so. Please know that each and every note left by you, whether it's to leave a kind word of appreciation, a highlight of what stood out to you, or ideas for the future, and everything in between, is impactful and important to me. For example, I spent a week about a month ago retooling a storyline to make sure it was as strong as it could be based on inspiration from your reviews. Let me hear from you!

Misty23y is a great beta. She conquered fifteen pages on one night on top of her own writing! Way to go, Babe!


	11. Chapter 11

**Disclaimer:** Anything recognizable belongs to Janet Evanovich, and the rest is mine. I'm grateful she lets us play.

**Warning:** Dark fic. Adult language, adult content, violence, smut. This is written for mature audiences only.

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**Chapter 11**

**Stephanie's POV**

"_Angelita_, may I show Ranger how to disarm and rearm your sensors?" Hector asks. I nod yes after a brief hesitation and sit down on the futon to elevate my knee and close my eyes in a cat nap while Hector conducts his tutorial. For getting the best night of sleep I've had in months, I'm worn out today. I jump when I feel a hand placed on my shoulder.

Ranger looks at me with concern, and I accept his hand while making my way to my car. I sit in the passenger seat, Hector takes the wheel, and Ranger sits behind me after proving that he was able to manage my security system. I'm incredibly nervous about going to Rangeman, and I begin to feel myself closing off again.

I feel Ranger reach a hand through the space between the seat and the door and he rests it near my elbow. I tense in response, but I don't pull away. "How does going to Hector's office sound? I could have Lester and Bobby come down to meet you when you arrive or later," he says, and I know he is trying to give me at least the illusion of control.

"Fine. Just Lester to start," I state emotionlessly, and Ranger squeezes my elbow.

The rest of the drive is silent, and I find myself holding my breath as we enter the garage, half expecting Tank to smite me. Ranger holds my door open and holds a hand out for balance as I swivel my body around so that my left leg takes the lead. I pause as I stand and grip his hand a little tighter and force myself to look in his eyes. He places a hand on my arm again, rubbing it gently.

He understands my vulnerability and unspoken need to have my inner resolve bolstered. "I've got you, Babe. You can do this," he says in a low tone. I nod once, release his hand and walk slowly to the elevator. Hector has it open and cued. We take it to three, and I follow Hector into his office. Lester is pacing the floor and immediately redirects his course to me.

"Beautiful," he starts, looking me up and down. "I'm sorry. For this year, for what you heard me say after Farro, for not being there for you more. I'm sorry." The way Lester speaks is desperately sincere, and he looks exhausted.

His words connect with something deep inside me, and before I can talk myself out of it, I move a couple of steps towards him and wrap my arms around his chest. Lester holds his own out like an overstuffed doll in surprise before gently returning the embrace. "Me, too. I'm sorry, too. I've learned a lot the past couple of days, and I know I haven't made things easy. I also know you've done more to help me than I understood, and I need to thank you. Things are going to change; I'm going to change," I say quietly, and Lester tightens his embrace.

"I'm so glad to hear that. I'm here for you, Beautiful, anything you need," Lester replies thickly, releasing his grip when the compression on my lungs forces another cough.

I take a step back. "Okay," I say. I haven't been much of a conversationalist or even been around people much the past year, and I feel awkward and uncomfortable with all the attention and the relative newness of my surroundings.

I make my way to an office chair at a vacant desk and sit stiffly - Ranger's right. I need to get this looked at, but I need a minute to assimilate into my surroundings before visiting Bobby. Hector hands me a tablet and overturns a wastebasket for me to prop my leg up on before sitting down at his desk and beginning his workday. The normalcy is comforting. Lester wheels a chair over and sits beside me.

"I need to head up to five, Babe. I'm a call or text away," Ranger says before departing.

**Ranger's POV**

I pick up the duffle bag with Stephanie's cash and secure it in my personal safe on seven. My Babe never disappoints. She's the only person I've ever met that would have millions of dollars hidden in the walls of her low-rent apartment. The sacrifices she's made on my behalf far exceed anything I've ever spent on her. I've said there is no price between us, but if there was, I know I am the one indebted.

Steam begins to fill the bathroom air while I shave before taking a one-minute shower and dressing in my typical Rangeman uniform. Walking to my office, I greet the men as I stop to pour a large cup of coffee from the breakroom. I ensconce myself inside the quiet space to gather myself before confronting Tank.

The only good thing about sleeping in Stephanie's apartment is being with my Babe. I think Hector may have been more comfortable sleeping on the ground than that musty, lumpy, unsupported futon. I stretch out my back before taking a seat at my desk. One reason I would sneak into Steph's old apartment and watch her sleep is how expressive she is. Stephanie often mumbles, tosses and turns, and her facial expressions change in relationship to her dreams. One night I heard a breathless _Ranger,_ and it's fueled many fantasies.

I woke up last night when Stephanie began thrashing in the bed, and I made out enough to know she was dreaming about Farro. I heard the fear when she mumbled _Get the fuck off of me_, and I immediately imagined Farro bruising her body and striking her. I was easily able to visualize what Steph was going through in her nightmare due to the reenactment my team put together, and I had to clamp down a flash of blinding rage the moment I knew Steph was about to be executed only to continue to fight for her life, killing the motherfucker instead.

Tank is right about one thing; five minutes is a long time to watch someone die. I laid beside Steph as I felt her process the aftermath in her subconscious, and I was standing by for her to either wake-up or drift further into sleep. What I wasn't ready for was her surprise at my presence, and I didn't know I could feel more compassion for Steph's situation than I did.

Stephanie doesn't expect anyone, even Hector, to stay with her. She truly feels alone in this world, and it explains many of her walls. All of those walls fell, if only for that conversation, and she clung to me fiercely.

I initially thought she was crying due to the emotional shock of her nightmare. When she sobbed, _It's not my fault_, I almost began to cry in relief with her, and I put everything I could into affirming her revelation. When she continued, I could hear the plea for validation in her voice, and I hope I was able to meet that need. I want to know what Farro said to her that she's carried a belief that he died because she didn't consent to sex, and I suspect there's something else in play that caused this once spirited, vivacious woman to believe him.

Stephanie sobbed, and I could feel the foundation of healing forming. A minute later she whispered, _My life is worth valuing. I have the right to want to live, and I am worth loving. I am good_, and I silently cried with her, sharing in the pain and relief. I know this newfound wisdom is tenuous, and her foundation will need much reinforcement, but it's a start.

My Babe is alive, and she wants to live.

I feel my beast begin to flex as I walk to Tank's office. I called Lester while inside Steph's bathroom this morning, and it took every ounce of self-control I possess to step out of that room and be the calm, steady person my Babe needs me to be right now. I'm nearly murderous that Tank authorized Stephanie's risk-taking by ordering Vinnie to let Steph take whatever files she wants. Consequently, Tank deliberately placed Stephanie in harm's way time and again, and I'm even more grateful for Hector's and Lester's interventions. Stephanie is alive because of them, and she could have died because of Tank.

Steph obtained the Sanchez file yesterday without Connie's knowledge, and I'm inclined to believe it was a set-up. But why would Tank choose yesterday to endanger Stephanie? When I met Tank Monday morning, I had no sense of animosity from him. By all accounts, he struck me as being the same long-time friend and colleague I thought I knew. Then I mentally replay the conversation.

Tank never mentioned Stephanie voluntarily. He knows how important she is to me, but he withheld how badly she was doing in favor of company reports. While debriefing Stephanie Monday morning, Tank seemed contrite, but perhaps that was a twinge of guilt or, more likely, he was acting to cover his tracks, thinking I wouldn't find out about his manipulations concerning Stephanie.

What does Tank have against Stephanie? Why is he enabling her mental and physical self-destruction? Why is he working to put Steph in the path of dangerous skips?

I pace beyond Tank's door and look out the window at the Burg, and the puzzle snaps together. Tank wants to keep control of Rangeman. It's why he's avoiding turnover and me. He doesn't see Stephanie as an employee, and I would be willing to bet he's removed her from the books while Lester and Bobby worked quietly behind the scenes to maintain her insurance coverages. Tank sees Stephanie the way the Burg does but not for the same reasons.

Steph is the opposite of most military types. She's independent, free-spirited, unconventional, exuberant, creative, and freely offers herself to others. She, at least was, blinding light in contrast to our colorless ways. Bobby was unable to recognize Steph's mental health crisis because his definition of a warrior was limited to the classic image of a soldier at war. Tank failed to recognize Stephanie as a warrior for the same reasons.

Instead of understanding what an asset to Rangeman and the men who work here Stephanie's unique traits are, Tank only saw the missteps, the accidents, and the times she rolled in the trash. He probably looks at the money this company has spent on helping her without considering what we've gotten in return in solved cases, productivity improvements due to personnel morale, and her exemplary local knowledge and research skills. He's no better than Morelli, Steph's mom, or anyone else who constantly put her down despite her ultimate success.

I walk into Tank's office, opening and closing the door without knocking, and lean against the wall with my arms folded across my chest. I regard Tank with my blank face in place as he puts on an elaborate show of looking put out by the intrusion.

"We went over this yesterday, Ranger," he starts in a dismissive but slightly annoyed tone. "You'll need to get on my schedule for turnover, and I know you haven't had time to read all of the pertinent documentation yet."

"Sanchez," I order.

"Yes, I do have time for that," Tank retorts angrily, pushing away from his desk slightly. "I was going to let it slide this time between friends, but since you've decided to storm in here, I think a few reminders are in order. I'm in charge of Rangeman, not you. You do not have the authority to pull men off of patrol to rescue a civilian. You put my men and this company's assets at risk at the drop of a dime, but it ends up costing us a lot more than dimes. Clear?"

I no longer know the man who stands before me. "Crystal," I reply icily, taking a step forward. "It's crystal clear to me that you forgot the most fundamental lesson we learned in Officer Candidate School as fresh Second Lieutenants, well before we became Rangers and business leaders. You put the mission first, and you forgot about the people who make the mission happen. As a result, you have failed in your mission," I stare at Tank with the full gaze of condemnation, and he shrinks before me.

"What are the Core Values of the Army? What are those traits we memorized that first week of training? What are those words our Drill Sergeant woke us up at all God-awful hours of the night to recite?" I thunder. Tank remains silent.

"Given what I've seen around here the past three days, I'm not surprised you forgot. You struggled to remember it back then, too," I state, making no effort to hide my disappointment and anger.

"Loyalty," I state, now standing directly in front of Tank. "Duty. Respect. Selfless service." I push each word at Tank forcefully. "Integrity." I let that word sink in a second longer. "Personal courage," I pause and lean forward slightly over Tank's desk. "Honor."

Tank matches my stare evenly, but I begin to see the cracks in the façade.

"I know you remember what our unit commander told us after every debrief. Tell me," I demand in a low voice.

"Loyalty is a two-way street, loyalty up and loyalty down. Respect for one's superior's; care for one's crew," Tanks replies reluctantly.** ***

"The only person you are loyal to is you. Turnover will happen at 1730 today. Be ready," I state before turning and leaving.

**Tank's POV **

I watch Ranger depart and slam my fist down on my desk in anger and exasperation. A new day, same nonsense. Ranger comes in here pissed off that his precious Stephanie was hurt last night. Well, I'm pissed off that Rangeman assets were diverted, my men's lives were put at risk due to another poorly planned rescue attempt, and this company spent more money saving Stephanie Plum. I had to find out about it from the fucking watch turnover reports. Ranger has never given me the respect I'm due.

Who the fuck does Ranger think he is? He returns from playing GI Joe for the last year and comes back with a superiority complex. How dare he storm in here like General Eisenhower on D-Day! Now he wants to take the company out from under my lead. I made vast improvements in Rangeman in his absence, and I don't need him here. Why can't he go to Miami as we planned? Trenton was always supposed to be mine. And then Stephanie Plum came along.

If I'm honest, I thought she was amusing at first, but I also thought she'd never last. Ranger, Lester, Bobby, and I have always maintained a "bros before hos" policy. Those three are my brothers, our bond forged in the frontlines. Then, Stephanie would always somehow manage to rise above her ridiculous incompetence and do something right, practically in spite of herself. I knew after the Scrog incident that Ranger had fallen for her, but I still never expected him to betray me by never leaving Rangeman Trenton. I was happy Ranger got year-long mission orders. I could finally have the number one slot, and I was going to do everything thing I could to keep it, and that included getting Stephanie to quit once and for all.

Little Girl was almost out of the picture, almost. Sanchez would have done her in last night. I made sure she got that file. I told Vinnie that every injury Stephanie would get from taking our skips would result in a bonus for him. He was quick to sell out his cousin. I don't care what Stephanie does with her life as long as she keeps Rangeman out of it. She cost us too much money in recent years. She's a God-damned liability and Ranger is too pussy-whipped to realize that she is wasting his money.

Now, Ranger saunters back into the office, demanding I meet with him to go over the transition all the while distracted once again by Stephanie. That's a man with loyalties divided, not me. Well, fuck you, Manoso. I'm not giving up my control. Go take care of your damsel in distress. If he continues to put her above the company, I will make sure there is no company. I've squirreled away enough money that I don't need to worry about earning a living if Rangeman folds. Our food bill and "decorating" bill is half of what it was before, now that the men are on a strict diet. The return to the basics is what the men needed. They were too careless and capricious. Now we once again run with military precision, and the men are loyal to me because I took care of them instead of Ranger's fuck buddy.

I shake my head as I stand and look out over the shithole known as the Burg. Stephanie Plum. I never understood what Ranger saw in her. She's rather plain, unimpressive in the looks department, and a damned disaster. But yet, Little Girl thinks she is better than everyone else. She's not. She's nothing more than a gold-digging whore. Lula told me that Stephanie was only after Ranger for his money. If Ranger is too blind to see that she's a gold-digger, then he deserves to lose half his estate to her.

Now, how do I get rid of Ranger and Stephanie once and for all?

**Stephanie's POV**

"What happened to your leg?" Lester asks. He's sitting near me, but he's still respecting my personal space. It's allowing me to relax, and I decide to embrace change by responding to his question immediately.

"Caesar. I fell on the stairs when he was encouraging me into a holding room," I say, keeping my eyes on the gossip site I'm opening on the tablet.

"Maybe I should have dislocated both of his kneecaps," Lester muses, and I shoot him a sideways glance. "No worries. There's always time for an accident to happen while he's in lock-up. I have some guys who owe me a favor," he continues, a smirk on his face.

I roll my eyes, and it becomes a full smile. "So, what are the Kardashians up to today?" he asks, and Hector rolls his eyes.

An hour later, I'm doubled over in laughter combined with more of this stupid cough as Lester tells me why a particular Las Vegas hotel banned him. Somehow, he managed to get the toilet seat stuck around his head, and the fire department had to come to pry it off. "That asshole," Lester said, "Stood by and watched it happen."

I look up to see Ranger leaning against the wall, his arms crossed, and a wisp of a smile crossing his face. "You deserved to be humbled," he says. "I've got it on video, should you ever want to see it yourself, Babe." Lester groans, Hector looks interested, and I laugh again.

"Bobby?" I question, and Ranger nods once and walks over, offering me his hand once again.

"Do you want me to stay?" Ranger asks when we're halfway down the hallway.

"Do you have the time?" I reply, feeling guilty about cutting into his workday. Ranger stops and stands in front of me so that we are looking directly at each other.

"Always, Babe. There's no price between us, remember that. I am here for you, no judgment, no hesitation, no cost. I unequivocally meant what I said last night; I love you. Period," he says urgently, and I nod my head in response, taking a deep breath to steel myself.

"Thank you," I manage, fighting the tears that spring to my eyes. "Yes, please, stay with me," I say nervously, my vision locked on Ranger.

For a second I think Ranger is about to kiss me, but he presses his lips together, and we continue down the hall. Ranger knocks on Bobby's office door.

"It's open," I hear Bobby call, and he stands as we enter.

"Bomber!" Bobby states, looking between Ranger and me. "I'm so glad you're here. I have something I need to tell you," Bobby continues before awkwardly looking away. It's almost comforting to see someone as uneasy as I am with reconciliations. "I haven't been a friend to you this year. When you left the building after Farro and cut us off, I never took the time to figure out why. I thought I was honoring what you wanted, but since Ranger's returned, I realized a few things. I tend to be a very analytical and somewhat introverted person, and I can lose myself in the scientific or medical challenge of something. I also tend to be follower outside of my comfort zone. I took my cues from the wrong person this year, and I let you, Rangeman in general, and myself down in the process. I knew you were hurting, and I didn't reach out. I'm sorry, Steph," Bobby says, looking genuinely contrite.

I sigh and set my jaw. _Just as you were willing to cut everyone off and become a tougher person, be that brave and let people help you, Steph. _

"The blame doesn't rest only with you," I reply quietly. "I could have given you a chance or asked you to explain what I overheard after Farro. I should have given our history the benefit of the doubt. I'm sorry, too. Friends?" I say, reaching out my hand.

Bobby smiles warmly and grips my hand with both of his. "Friends," he agrees, and I believe him.

"I think I need your help," I say quietly to Bobby, clasping my fingers together. "I hurt my knee yesterday, and someone needs to look at it, but I think I might need some other help moving past this last year. I don't know what that is, and I don't know how to move forward."

Ranger places a comforting hand on my back, and I let out a slow stream of air, coughing slightly at the end.

"Steph, I know it's hard right now, but it will get better. I promise," Bobby says gently, and when I look up, I see compassionate confidence. "Come have a seat here," Bobby says, pointing to a chair. "I need to discuss a couple of things with you first."

I sit, and Ranger pulls up a chair beside me. "I haven't done a good job as your primary medical care provider, Bomber. When you became a Rangeman employee, I should have treated you like everyone else, but since you aren't like everyone else, I didn't. As a result, when things happened to you, I was less prepared to respond to your psychological needs as well as physical, and we never enforced Rangeman protocol," he starts, and my eyes widen in surprise.

"If what had happened to you during Farro, or frankly any of the other dozen or so major events I know of, happened to any other employee, he would have been pulled from the field, assigned mandatory counseling, a mentor, likely been honored for his actions, and undergone strict testing before being cleared again. Farro wasn't the first time you've fired your weapon in the line of duty, and I've lost track of the number of times you've been assaulted or nearly died, and I don't even have a complete physical work-up on you in my records. I need to correct that, beginning today," Bobby states, and I begin to feel a flutter of panic in my chest. Bobby seems to sense that and leans forward, placing his eye level more evenly with my own.

"Anything you tell me is confidential, and to build your trust, I'm going to tell you that I've received records for any medical care you've sought from secondary providers. Ranger has reviewed a summary sheet of that care but not specific details. No one else has or will see it without your written approval. I am only interested in your care and well-being, Steph," Bobby finishes, and I grind my teeth as I look away in contemplation.

Change is hard, and I changed once to isolate myself. _Now it's time to trust._ I can do this.

"Okay, but Ranger stays," I say, my body rigid as I fight my initial instinct to shut myself away. Ranger places a hand behind my neck and lightly massages away some of the tension, and I cough as my body relaxes slightly

"Good, first things first, let's complete a few questionnaires," Bobby says, opening my electronic medical record on his computer and pulling up a new document. He begins asking typical questions about my medical history and that of my family's. There's a history of hypertension, hyperthyroidism, and heart disease in my family, but otherwise, we are a pretty healthy bunch. My only medication is an IUD and occasional pain relievers. I was damn sure I didn't want to become pregnant anytime the past few years.

Under respiratory issues, I admitted to developing pneumonia and bronchitis about a month ago. I had chest x-rays taken to confirm the diagnosis, and treated it with antibiotics, but that I still occasionally feel winded. When Bobby asked about hearing loss, I nodded yes. "Since Farro, I've developed a ringing in both ears that comes and goes, usually at least once a day. It seems to be worse if I am under stress. It happened last night," I say, glancing at Ranger. He nods and gives me a tight smile, his hand on my neck continuing its light massage.

"Okay, Bomber. I'll set up an appointment with an ear, nose, and throat specialist," Bobby says, making a note.

I answer yes to a history of concussions or head trauma, and even after Bobby pulls up what he has on record for me, it takes nearly ten minutes to reconcile the data. "Steph, I'm going to send you to a specialist to evaluate you for TBI or traumatic brain injury. With the number of head injuries in your history, it's standard to get a baseline," Bobby states.

There are another series of yes answers to a history of joint injuries, breaks, sprains, and it takes another fifteen minutes for Bobby to collate what he has on record and fill in the gaps with my memory. My body has taken a beating. "When we get to the physical portion of the evaluation, I'm going to check your mobility and flexibility to ensure everything has healed correctly," Bobby says before moving on.

The rest is a series of no answers, and we move to the 'Females Only' portion of the form. I list my last menstrual cycle at two weeks prior, last pap smear six months ago and the clinic I visited. Bobby finds the records and collates it with the questionnaire before continuing with, "Any pregnancies?"

"One, miscarriage at six weeks," I reply, and I feel Ranger's hand still a second. I sigh and look down. "It was Dickie's," I say quietly. "I came home early to tell him the good news, only to find him fucking Joyce over my dining room table. I burned the table in the front yard, but I lost the baby due to the stress."

"Do you need to take a break, Steph?" Bobby asks gently, and while I appreciate his empathy, I want to finish this. I shake my head no, and he asks me if I have a history of STDs.

I sigh again and cross my arms over my chest. "Chlamydia. Treated. I'm clean," I say, grinding my teeth together. I have no desire to go over my sexual history.

"It's alright, Babe," Ranger says quietly. "No one here is judging you." I give him a side-eye look, and he seems to be sincere. I let my posture droop slightly as I cough, and I choose to continue to trust him against every instinct in me that wants to walk out of this room.

"Next, I am going to do a couple of mental health screens. These are standardized forms, and even if the questions seem odd, there is a numerical score at the end that will help me best direct your care, if any is needed," Bobby explains. "I'll ask a couple of more generic questions first. What is your alcohol intake per week?"

"Two to five drinks a day," I respond.

"Any illegal drugs?"

"No."

"Anxiety or panic attacks?"

I shrug. "Maybe, I'm not sure."

"Depression or excessive worry?"

I shrug again. "I'd like to say no, but I'm objective enough to realize some of my actions this past year don't align with that."

"Frequent trouble sleeping?"

"Yes."

"Have you been previously evaluated for a mental condition?"

"No."

Bobby pauses and looks at me compassionately. "Have you attempted suicide, Steph?"

"No, but I haven't cared very much if I lived or died, either, and my actions reflect that. I know that, and I want to live my life differently," I say, tears springing to my eyes.

Ranger pulls me towards him, and I'm surprised at how much I appreciate the comforting act. "It's going to get better, Babe. This examination is the first step. You're doing great," he says.

"Steph, trauma, if not addressed, can sometimes lead to other mental health concerns. Next, I'm going to ask a series of situational questions," Bobby continues. "I know we know the answer to some of these, but I don't want to make any assumptions. Have you experienced a serious accident or fire?"

"Yes, four house fires, no idea how many car accidents," I say, increasingly fighting my urge to become detached and leave.

"A physical or sexual assault or abuse?"

I lean forward with one arm wrapped around my waist and the other supporting my chin. "Yes, I have scars all over my body proving physical assault, but it's part of the job. I've been sexually assaulted with penetration four times, not sure how many times a skip tried to pull something," I respond glumly, working to keep my emotions at bay.

Ranger rubs small circles on my back. I hate feeling small and weak, and that's precisely what this topic does to me. I tilt my head towards him, biting my lip, and I see the acceptance I need. I sit back and reach my hand over to his, and he envelops it immediately with his own. It's the first time I've asked for physical comfort from him, and while the action was scary, I feel instantly stronger with his acceptance. It's going to be okay.

"An earthquake or flood?" Bobby continues after a pause.

"No."

"A war?"

"No."

"Seeing someone killed or seriously injured?"

"Yes, that list is pretty long."

"Having a loved one die through homicide or suicide?"

"No, I wasn't close to any of the people who have died," I say, staring at a spot on the wall.

"Five more questions, Steph, and we'll finish with this portion," Bobby says. "Do you have nightmares about any of the events you said yes to or thought about the events when you did not want to?"

"Every day," I respond quietly.

"Do you try hard not to think about the event or events or went out of your way to avoid situations that reminded you of the events or events?"

"Yes."

"Have you been constantly on guard, watchful, or easily startled?"

"Yes."

"Do you or have you felt numb or detached from people, activities, or your surroundings?"

I didn't expect this question, and I glance at Bobby in surprise. It's how I feel every day, including this exam. "Yes," I affirm.

"Do you feel or have you felt guilty or unable to stop blaming yourself or others for the event or events or any problems the event or events may have caused?"

"Yes," I reply, wondering what it means that I responded affirmatively to every question as I cover my mouth while I cough. I hope Bobby meant it when he said this was the last of the questions. Much more, and I will ask for a break. I feel exhausted, physically and emotionally.

Bobby finishes making a note on the computer and turns towards me. "Steph, that was a standardized PTSD screen developed by the VA. Based on your responses, it is highly likely that you have developed PTSD as a result of the various traumatic events you've experienced, especially since you've never received care after any of those events. I recommend seeing a mental health professional who specializes in PTSD and trauma. I can have someone come here, or you could meet him or her out in town. What would you be comfortable with?" Bobby explains, but his voice is even and non-judgmental.

I consider his explanation quietly. I think there is a part of me that is relieved by Bobby's diagnosis. It makes me feel like there is a reason why I've reacted and felt the way I have, but it also gives me a way forward. If I meet with someone out in town, there is always a chance that I will be seen coming and going from the office, and I'll be the center of gossip all over again. If I meet with someone here, it means I'll be here. However, with Tank leaving and Ranger taking over, maybe I can feel safe here again. "Female therapist, here. But if I feel like I'm the center of gossip, I will want to meet outside of Trenton," I state, and Bobby agrees.

"Proud of you, Babe," Ranger says into my ear, and I nod, feeling both anxious and comforted.

* * *

**A/N: ***Quote from Rear Admiral Grace Hopper, inventor of the compiler and a Presidential Medal of Freedom recipient. She is an incredible American hero, and I recommend looking up her biography if you are unfamiliar with her story.

Special thanks this chapter to my beta, misty23y, for co-writing Tank's POV this chapter with me. Misty was essential to giving Tank a more unique voice as we explore his motivations. You're the best, Babe!

I had a wonderful weekend of travel and relaxation, and it's left me feeling revived and refreshed. I also didn't have computer access. It's important to me that everyone knows how much I value the time and input you guys provide, and I've done a poor job of replying to those comments since Chapter 8.

I hear from some of you guys every chapter, namely:

Shellbell78, aruvqan, baileygirl12, redbird23, GarbanzoBeans, Buddy'sBabe, glynnall, jkgk, trhodes9, shoegirl01, melyons, avidreader72, JudoMom, VulcanRider, joycon98, and dizzlydee. **THANK YOU!**

Many more have popped up on a chapter that moved them, to share an encouraging comment, or to provide feedback on the direction of the story. You are:

sbabe, Daffybduck, kold1, Katherin Bend, IdRatherBeCrafting, Fawn Hickory, RhoJ, ohtootsie, katannc, mysskrys, First Generation Scot, annalynn88, ybanormlmom, frost dance, Tommy14, Brigid, Miss Juniper13, pinkladyj56, daxandpat, janinemayjames, Eleni, Team Ranger, chicki'62, Ann S, Karen Parker, judyshue809, and Guest(s). **THANK YOU!**

There have been at least 44 individual reviewers in the last three chapters alone, and I'm grateful for each of you. You guys are amazing, and I love writing in the JE fandom. I still intend to reach out to you in a PM, if your account allows, but I didn't want to delay the chapter until I was able to do so or let another chapter go by without expressing my appreciation.

If you are interested, I am willing to provide a Q&A at the end of Chapter 12. Is there anything you would like to know about the who, what, when, where, and why of this story that I could answer at the end of the A/N? Let me know!


	12. Chapter 12

**Disclaimer:** Anything recognizable belongs to Janet Evanovich, and the rest is mine. I'm grateful she lets us play.

**Warning:** Dark fic. Adult language, adult content, violence, smut. This is written for mature audiences only.

* * *

**Chapter 12**

**Stephanie's POV**

Bobby stands and pulls a hospital gown out of a cabinet and sets it on the bed on the opposite side of the room. "Next I am going to take a round of vitals, draw some blood, do a basic physical examination, and you mentioned your knee. It's not a gynecological exam, and for any of those needs, I completely understand if you want to go to a different provider. If we have time, I'll also re-examine any old injuries to see how well you've healed, and I'll document any tattoos or scars greater than one inch for identification purposes. You can leave your undergarments on, but I ask that you otherwise undress. I'll step out while you do," Bobby says, walking out and closing the door behind him.

"Do you want me to stay or go, Babe?" Ranger asks, my hand still clutching his.

I turn in my chair and wrap my arms around his chest, needing to lean on him for a moment. Having reached out the first time and been accepted, it's easier the second, and even more so, I want to. Being vulnerable is exhausting. "Stay," I say into his chest.

Ranger's arms crisscross over my back, and I begin to feel more at peace. I pull away and start to cough as I bend over to untie my boots. It's a simple task on my good leg, but I struggle to reach without incurring more pain on the right. Ranger helps me without asking. I walk over to the bed and face the wall before sliding off my jacket and pulling my shirt over my head. I pull the robe over my front and reach behind my neck to tie it closed.

"This is beautiful, Babe," Ranger says, his fingertips brushing the skin between my shoulder blades before taking the tie from my fingers.

"I'm trying to think so," I say, before shimmying my pants down my waist and sitting down to finish pulling them off. Ranger assists and sets them with the jacket before sitting down beside me.

After the incident with Sanchez three months ago, I began work on a modestly sized but heavily detailed and shaded set of feathered wings between my shoulder blades, with the two wings separated by a blank space. "I want to believe you and Hector. I want to be his angel, and the woman you say spreads light wherever she goes. But I've felt nothing but darkness and failure since Farro. I often feel as though I broke the scale of good and evil, and everything since has sent me further down to hell. I always said I wanted to fly, but frankly, right now I don't know which way I'm going," I say honestly, leaning my head into his shoulder.

"I know, Babe, and I'm sorry," Ranger says, placing an arm around my shoulders. "Some of this is my fault. When I agreed to be your mentor, I should have treated you like every other Rangeman employee. We have these screenings and protocols in place to prevent and minimize the impact of trauma. I knew you hated hospitals, valued your independence, and liked to do things your own way. When I didn't explain why Rangeman does things the way we do, I didn't give you the information you needed to make good decisions about your health. That's how I failed you as your boss, but I feel I failed you more so as a friend. I acted like your Batman, as you used to say, but I often didn't follow-up with you when bad things did happen, and worse, at times actively pushed you away or held you at arm's length. I hope you can forgive me."

I look up at Ranger as tears unexpectedly flood the corners of my eyes. "Of course I forgive you. It's me who doesn't deserve forgiveness. I don't know how you can look at me let alone want to still help me given everything I've done," I confess, sighing heavily as I look down and lace my fingers tightly together in my lap.

"Babe, I will tell you as many times as it takes for you to believe me. You are the best person I know. Sure, you have some things you aren't proud of doing. So do I, and so does Lester, Hector, and Bobby. You are hurting, and you were surviving. That causes us to do things we may regret later. I will never, ever judge you for that, and I have nothing but the highest respect for you. I see you determinedly face the things that are troubling you, and I know how difficult that can be. Change is hard," Ranger says, rubbing my bicep.

"I love you, Babe," he says. "As your friend, and, if and when you are ever ready, as something more. I will always be there for you."

My stomach does a little flip flop at his words, and I tentatively tilt my head up and search his dark chocolate eyes before pulling away again. "Thank you for believing in me," I whisper before resting my head in the soft spot of his shoulder again and closing my eyes. He loves me, and I'm starting to believe it, but I'm not ready to say it back. I don't even know if I love myself, and that makes me wonder if I can love anyone else.

Ranger wraps both arms around me, and I appreciate the warmth. This robe is much cooler than my heavy jacket, and I was feeling chilled in that. "Is there anything else you want to talk about before I call Bobby back in?" he asks.

"You must have questions," I say, finding my quiet courage. "While it's fresh, and I'm already raw, ask me."

Ranger pulls me slightly closer. "You don't have to, but will you tell me more about your response to the sexual assault question? It might help me understand and respond to you better," he says.

I place my outboard arm around Ranger's middle and nestle into him further. He is my favorite smell, and breathing in his nearness makes me feel safe. He gives me a slight squeeze in response, and a calmness I need to answer his question settles over me.

"Morelli at six in his father's garage. He called it choo-choo. His finger was the train, and my vagina was the tunnel. Him again at sixteen. He came into the Tasty Pastry at closing and asked for a cannoli. While I was filling it, he locked the door and forced himself on me on the bakery floor. I said no, he said that's what virgins say when they mean yes," I begin, retelling my history with a hint of sarcasm. I stop to cough and begin with a more regretful tone. "I was date raped in college. I'm pretty sure my drink was spiked. There was an incident with one of my sexual partners four months ago," I say, trailing off. Now is where Ranger will know, without a doubt, that I'm not the same person he left behind a year ago. "I've had quite a few one-night stands the past several months, and while they were all very physical, one man started to cross the line. I told him to stop, but he anally raped me without a condom. That's what led to the checkup at the women's clinic you saw in my medical record and treatment for the STD. I think the worst part is feeling responsible, because I put myself in the risky situations," I recall, my words spilling out rapidly. I don't realize I'm trembling until I feel Ranger begin to rub small circles on my back.

"Oh, Babe," he says, before falling silent again. "Do you still blame yourself?"

"Yes," I whisper. "I know the right answer is that I don't. I know I'm supposed to say that sexual assault is about power and control, and I know that I'm supposed to say that I always have the right to give my consent and take it away again. I've read the literature. But, I can't silence the voice inside me that says otherwise. I do believe that had I listened to my mom and stayed out of that garage at six; stood my ground better at sixteen, Morelli never would have been able to hurt me. Had I been wiser about protecting my drink and having a wing-woman in college; or not engaged in such risky behavior the past half year, I could have finally learned how to save myself a whole lot of pain and heartache." Tears cascade silently down my cheeks as allow myself to share some of my greatest areas of shame.

"Thank you for being honest, Babe," Ranger says, his accent strong, before kissing my hair. "I appreciate that the head and the heart don't always align, but I'll say it anyway. None of that was your fault, your no and boundaries, even if they change, should always be respected. You can expect that from me, always. I love you."

"I know," I reply, taking a deep breath and wiping my eyes with the back of my hand. "Anything else?"

"No, Babe, I'm not going to push you. Are you ready to let Bobby finish his exam?" Ranger says. I sit up, coughing as I adjust my posture, and steel my emotions before nodding yes. Ranger stands and opens the door to the adjacent room before sitting in a chair kitty-corner from the bed.

"Okay, Steph. I'll begin the physical exam. If I do anything that makes you uncomfortable, please speak up, and I'll stop. I will also explain what I'm doing before I do it. To start, let me take a look at your knee," Bobby begins professionally. I'm shivering in the gown, and Ranger picks up a blanket folded at the end and wraps it around my shoulders as I twist so that the heel of my foot rests on the bed with my knee slightly bent. Bobby removes the bandage and frowns. "How did this happen, Steph?" he asks, sitting on a swivel stool while gently poking around the wound.

I glance at Ranger, and I can tell by his expression that Bobby doesn't know about anything that happened yesterday. "I attempted to capture Oscar Sanchez last night. He's an FTA I also attempted to bring in about three months ago, but Lester intercepted him before I was able. As a part of my plan to lure Sanchez out of the bar three months ago, I had a consensual sexual encounter with his number two, a man I know as Caesar. I used the liaison to appear interested in trading sex for drugs as a way to lure Sanchez out of the bar. I believe it would have worked, and I attempted the same play last night," I state in a matter of fact tone, owning up to my decisions, as Bobby stands and regards me seriously.

I set my mouth before continuing, crossing my arms over my middle. "Since Ranger came home, I've had cause to reconsider how I've been living my life and the personal risks I'm taking. After speaking with Caesar and Sanchez yesterday, I decided I wasn't willing to continue the capture with my plan. When they realized I wasn't going to have sex with them, Caesar cornered me. Since I wasn't as focused as I normally am when out in the field, he took me by surprise and was able to secure my arm around my back like this," I demonstrate, "and force me through a door and up a flight of stairs. I was wearing four-inch stilettoed boots, and I was off balance. He pushed me, and I fell, cutting my knee on the edge of the stairs. I used that moment to push the panic button," I continue, pausing when Ranger places a hand on my foot from his perch at the foot of my bed.

"He forced me into a room, and I landed on all fours before he struck me, which is the bruising on my lower back. I think that was when I strained or sprained the knee. Ranger and Hector rescued me shortly afterward, and Lester, I imagine with Rangeman's support, apprehended Sanchez and Caesar," I say, looking at Ranger for confirmation. He nods his head, yes, but I can tell he's fighting to keep his emotions in check. "The room and stairs at the bar were filthy, but we cleaned my knee using my first aid kit at my apartment," I finish with a shrug, pulling the blanket around me more tightly.

"I'm glad you're safe, Steph, and I'll help get you patched up," Bobby says seriously. "This wound is infected, and I will need to treat it. Before I do so, I'm going to take your vitals and draw some blood. Woody will bring it to the lab, and the results will help me determine the best approach," he continues, walking across the room to place supplies on a tray that he wheels over to me.

"Do you know your weight?" Bobby asks.

"118 pounds or so," I reply before Bobby puts a thermometer under my tongue.

"Blood pressure is a little low, 99/78. Pulse is 106 beats per minute," Bobby says, recording as he goes. "Temperature is 101.2F. Have you taken any anti-inflammatory drugs such as Advil or Tylenol today?"

"Two Advil this morning," I reply. "Around five hours ago."

Bobby has me hold a fist while he searches for a vein, and I lock eyes with Ranger as he injects the needle. He gives me a small, encouraging smile, and squeezes my foot.

"All done," Bobby announces, removing the tourniquet from my upper arm. "I need to place the lab order and package this up for Woody. Rest, and I'll be back in less than fifteen minutes," Bobby reports, walking to the adjacent office and closing the door behind him. Ranger moves to sit at the head of the bed, and I lean back so that my head is resting on his lap, coughing as I do and shivering despite the blanket.

Ranger makes a second blanket appear from nearby and drapes it over my lower half as my eyes begin to close. "I'm tired," I mumble. "Wake me when Bobby's back."

A second later, Ranger is gently shaking me awake, but my eyes fly open with a start. "It's okay, Babe," Ranger says in a low tone, and I begin to feel calmer.

"Bomber, I'm going to put you on a saline drip before we continue. Do you want to use the restroom first?" Bobby informs me. I nod yes, and Ranger helps me stand, and I limp to the adjoining room. I finish my business but pause outside the door, remembering the conversation I overheard that fateful morning.

Perhaps it's the emotional toll of the day, or maybe it's how physically worn out I feel, but I can't stop the tears that begin to fall down my face. "Babe?" Ranger says with obvious concern, coming up beside me and placing a hand on my shoulder.

I turn and look at Bobby, who's standing in the doorway between the exam room and his office. "Are you sure you don't mind helping me? I don't want to be a burden, and I know what everyone said that morning. I know I let you guys down again and again with my stupidity and stubbornness, and I've tried so hard to be better at my job, but here I am again, all fucked up. I let down my guard, and I got hurt. I'm sorry," I say brokenly, everything becoming too much.

"Steph, I let you down that morning. I wasn't there for you, and I wasn't the advocate you needed me to be. I did nothing, but I still did something. That something ultimately hurt you," Bobby says, stepping towards me. "I'm completely committed to being your friend and medical provider, regardless of any other circumstances. What we are doing today is difficult, and I'm very impressed with how candid you are being. This injury is not your fault. I think it was brave of you to recognize that you were in a bad situation and try to get out of it. I know you haven't asked for help, at least from Rangeman, since Farro, and I'm glad you did. I care about you, and I'm going to do better, too."

I stand there as sobs quietly wrack my body, hands at my side and head down, too tired from months of shutting my feelings off to stop the flood. "O-o-o-okay," I stutter out, and Bobby places a hand on my opposite shoulder.

"We've got you, Steph. Cry as much as you need. You aren't alone anymore," Bobby says, and I know I couldn't stop if I tried. Every tear I've held back since Farro is demanding to be shed. Each drop represents the betrayal, loss, anger, pain, both caused by others and self-inflicted, frustration, shame, failure, anxiety, and grief I've denied myself feeling. I'm not hysterical, or even exceptionally vocal. I'm wholly stricken, and all I can do is ride it out.

"I'm going to pick you up, Babe," Ranger says, leaning towards my ear, and I nod yes, covering my face with my hands. Ranger lifts me and sets me down on the bed. My right leg is slightly bent in front of me, but I wrap my arms around my left leg and rest my head on the inside of my knee.

I hear Bobby say something to Ranger, who stands before the back of the bed is raised into a 45-degree incline, and he pushes the wheeled bed away from the wall. I feel a pillow placed behind me, but I don't move. Ranger pulls up a chair beside me, and I turn my head to look at him, though my sight is blurry from the tears. "I can't stop," I manage to say.

"It's okay to be sad, Babe. It just means you have a lot to let out," he says gently, wiping my tears away. "I'm going to help you settle back so that Bobby can start the IV. I'll be right here."

I nod yes, and he helps guide my body. My left hand finds his as I lean my head against the pillow, coughing before I fully relax into the bed, and close my eyes, still trembling from tears and fever chills. I feel the blankets be tucked around me before Bobby adjusts my right arm to insert the IV. The cool liquid of the saline travels up my arm a minute later, and while my sobs have calmed, the tears still trail down my face.

"Steph, I need to listen to your lungs," Bobby says from beside me. "Ranger and I are going to help you sit up," he directs before they gently move me upright and Bobby places a stethoscope on my back. "Breathe in deeply as best as you can and let it out slowly," he says, and I focus on following directions, coughing when directed and repeating the breath several times on my back and then my front as they lean me back again.

Inside, a voice is telling me to stop and pull myself together, but I'm just too exhausted to listen to it. I don't feel out of control, just sad, and in many ways, I feel like these tears are cleansing, and that maybe I'm beginning to heal after all.

"Steph," Bobby says, placing a hand on my shoulder. I turn towards him, sniffling. He sets the tissue box beside me. "Can you tell me more about your bronchitis and pneumonia diagnosis and treatment?"

"Three weeks ago. Walk-in clinic in White Horse. Chest x-ray. Amoxicillin for a week. Residual cough since," I manage to get out in spurts, between the tears and coughing, turning my face back to Ranger as he wipes my hair back.

"Okay, Steph. I'm going to manipulate your leg. Tell me when something hurts," he directs, and I raise my hand when something is too much. "Good job, Stephanie. I need to check on your lab work and make a phone call. Try to rest, and we'll discuss your treatment plan shortly."

Ranger gives me a small smile. "I'm here for you, Babe. I love you," he says. The hand not holding mine rests on my forearm.

I give a deep, ragged breath and cough as I exhale. "You must think I'm a basket case, but I haven't cried, at all, since Farro. Last night was the first. I've been mad, I've beat walls, I've hurt myself, I've lashed out at others, I've drowned my feelings in alcohol, but I haven't been able to cry. Now that I started, I can't hold it back anymore, and I think it's because I trust you. Maybe this is what letting it go and beginning to heal looks like; I'm not sure. I know that I'm grateful that you're here for me," I say in a raspy voice, taking my time between sentences to catch my breath. I tilt my chin slightly so that I can look directly at Ranger, digging into my emotional bravery reserves. "Can I have a hug?" I say quietly, breaking my eye contact again.

Ranger immediately sits on the edge of the bed and pulls me against him. I close my eyes and let my body sag against his. I focus on his breathing rather than my sadness, and I find my mind clearing and my emotions calming. "I don't think you're a basket case, Babe. I think you are courageous. I've seen grown men fall under the emotional weight of what you've been carrying in better circumstances than yours. Your fight against your demons, while imperfect, is nonetheless inspiring. You've never given up, but nor do you have to carry the weight alone anymore. I'm grateful you're allowing me to be here for you, and a hug is the very least I can do," Ranger says, rubbing my back gently. "I want to respect your physical boundaries, Babe. For very good reasons, I know you are more reserved now than before I left, and I don't want to make any mistakes that overstep your boundaries. I'll get a better idea of how to read you the more we are around each other, but please continue to communicate with me what you need."

I cough and pull away from Ranger, who adjusts the pillow behind me before sitting down in an adjacent chair. I reach for his hand, and when he takes it, I say with furrowed eyebrows and quivering chin, "I need you not to betray me. I need your friendship and your love to be my lighthouse as I figure things out. I don't completely believe you, but it doesn't mean I don't want to. Please be patient with me. I," I sigh and look down to take a calming breath. "I need to learn to trust, to have faith, and to love again. I think that by letting you, Hector, Lester, and Bobby into my life more fully, and by following your guys' recommendations regarding my mental and physical health, I can."

Ranger's grip tightens around my fingers, and he nods his head in solemn affirmation. I think Ranger is about to say something when Bobby walks back into the room and pulls a chair up next to Ranger. "I've reviewed your lab work and the chest x-ray from three weeks ago as well as their treatment plan," Bobby starts. "You were accurately diagnosed with a respiratory infection three weeks ago, but amoxicillin is not the best antibiotic to treat that, and you've developed bilateral pneumonia and a small pleural effusion as a result. Your white blood cell count is high, and you're anemic. You're also underweight, and your blood pressure and oxygen levels are lower than they should be, but not critically so. Those factors combined make you an excellent candidate for infection, which is the case with your knee. The good news here is that I believe the additional swelling and bruising is a simple strain from the impact, and with rest, ice, compression, and elevation, it should feel significantly better in a week. However, given that you've also developed a fever, your heart rate is elevated, and I'm concerned about your respiratory rate, it's possible you are developing sepsis. If I'm correct, we caught it early, and that's excellent for your prognosis." My eyes widen, and I look between Bobby and Ranger. Ranger squeezes my hand.

"I need to flush the wound out with an antibiotic solution before dressing it. Further, I'm going to begin administering appropriate IV antibiotics, including Azithromycin and Ceftriaxone, as well as liquid ibuprofen for inflammation, pain, and fever control. I'm licensed to maintain a small pharmacy here. If you don't respond to the medication within twenty-four hours or your symptoms become worse, you will need to be transported to the hospital for care in the ICU for a chest tube insertion. The reason is two-fold. One is that worsening respiratory symptoms would be an indication the pleural sac is infected and the effusion is worsening. When that happens, the sac compresses the lung and collapses it, requiring a chest tube to re-inflate. The second is that sepsis is a very serious condition that can lead to shock and even death. I'm not completely certain you are becoming septic, but I have my suspicions, and I'll be monitoring you closely. The infection you have needs to be watched closely. I'm also going to administer a nebulizer treatment for your lungs and start you on oxygen therapy.

"Once we get past these critical items, we're going to work on increasing your caloric and iron intake. I can tell you've been working out, Steph, but we need to develop a diet that matches your physical exertion. We'll also work to reduce your alcohol intake, and that can go hand-in-hand with both your diet and your mental health plan. Otherwise, I'm going to put the small remainder of your physical assessment on hold, which is mostly muscular and skeletal, until you're full strength. Any questions, Bomber?" Bobby finishes his assessment clinically, but his eyes are kind. It's also a lot for me to take in.

"How long will I be here?" I ask.

"That depends. Under hourly observation by me, the next seventy-two hours at a minimum, and daily after that for a week," Bobby starts before pausing. He seems to reset, and I suddenly feel like I'm talking to a friend rather than a clinician. "Steph, these past few months have been hell on you both mentally and physically. Your body is screaming for a rest. Please, allow yourself to stop and trust us. I know I haven't earned it yet, but this is a potentially life-threatening situation for you if you don't," he says, the worry etched on his face, and my gut clenches.

"Okay," I whisper as the tears I barely got under control begin to fall again. "Someone needs to get Rex, please," I say, looking at Ranger, and he nods his head.

"Steph," Bobby continues with a concerned tone while glancing at Ranger before further addressing me. "Based on the screeners we completed today, Rangeman policy states that until cleared by your mental health provider, you aren't authorized to carry any weapons. I know you brought several into the building, and I will need to secure them in our armory. Do you understand?"

I choke against the lump that forms in my throat as panic begins to rise in my chest. I start to shake my head no rapidly. My weapons are what makes me feel safe and protected, and I don't know how to feel that way without them anymore. The ringing in my ears begins to return, and I pull my hand away from Ranger's to rub them.

"Babe," Ranger says slightly sterner than usual, and my eyes lock on his. "Babe," he says again more gently. "Breathe, with me. In-2-3, out-4-5-6-7. Good, again," he directs, and I begin to calm. "You're safe. No one here is going to hurt you, and this building is nearly impenetrable. I'll assign a guard outside the room if it helps, but it's time we did what we should have done all along and follow protocol."

I close my eyes against the pillow and keep my hands over my ears. I bite my lower lip as I reluctantly look at Ranger. "What about Tank? I, I know he's your best friend, but I can't trust him, and he's only a few hundred feet from me. I can't tell you why, but," I trail off. "I can't be unarmed. I'm already unequally matched. What if," I continue, my words gaining speed and volume as I feel my panic returning.

"Bomber," Bobby interrupts me, taking my hands from my ears and holding them in his. I automatically squeeze them tightly as I lean towards him, swallowing my next words. "Stephanie," he says again gently, leaning towards me. "I know why you're afraid, and you have every reason to be. But Steph," he continues, looking solemn, "This policy exists to save you from you. There is a history of people standing where you are standing now who chose to use a weapon to take their pain away, and it was a permanent solution to a temporary problem. I'm not saying you're suicidal, but you also aren't your best self. It's okay. You're in the right place to start getting help, and we'll do everything we possibly can to help you. I believe in you, but I cannot in good conscience leave you with a weapon right now." Bobby sets his lips firmly, and I hold his hands tighter.

"What are you going to do to save me from Tank? And what if there is someone else who tries to hurt me? I'm not being paranoid. I mean, look at my life! Someone is constantly trying to hurt me, and before I started carrying all the time, they usually succeeded. People still get to me, but at least I can give as good as I take now. Hell, Bobby, I don't think I even know how to stand down anymore," I say, trembling with the effort of holding back my panic. I see Ranger look away for a brief second in my periphery before placing his hand on my back.

"Let me tell you what we've done already," Bobby says, appealing to my rational side. "The cameras have been scrambled in every public space you've been in at Rangeman, and while I can't guarantee Tank doesn't know you're here, your presence wasn't advertised either. Hector changed the fob codes to his office, my office, and this room. The only people with access are Hector, Ranger, Lester, and me. Under no circumstances will you be left without one of the four of us by your side or in the adjacent room. I have a spare weapon under lock and key in my office. If we were to be threatened within this space, I would be willing to give it to you for the duration of the conflict. I _swear_ we have your absolute best interest in mind."

Bobby looks directly at me as he speaks, and I lose my battle against the tears. "I'm scared," I whisper, my knuckles white as I cling to him.

"I know," Bobby replies with more compassion than I knew he possessed. "It's a real response to your circumstances, but it's also your PTSD. It's called hyper-vigilance. That doesn't mean you don't have cause to be afraid, but it's also why you are having a hard time standing down, as you said. I know it's difficult, and I know it doesn't feel right, but I'm asking you to take the leap of faith and trust us."

_Trust, Steph. Trust. You aren't alone._ I take a shaky breath and nod my head, yes, several times with a nearly imperceptible movement. Bobby responds with a single nod of his chin and releases my hands as he sits back again.

"We are here for you, Babe," Ranger says, continuing to rub my back. He uses his other hand to brush away my tears. "Thank you for trusting us. I'm proud of you," he praises before standing upright. He pulls out his phone and begins sending a text.

"Steph, I'm going to hook you up for electronic monitoring and begin administering the medication we discussed. Is there anything else I can do to make you more comfortable?" Bobby says as he begins to reposition the bed so that it is perpendicular instead of parallel to the far wall before pulling over and plugging in additional equipment.

"Another blanket and a sip of water?" I reply. "I'm freezing."

Bobby places the thermometer under my tongue first. "102.8F. No extra blanket right now, but I can give you another pillow," he says, setting the thermometer down and walking to the next room, quickly returning with the pillow and a bottle of water. He tucks the pillow under the arm with an IV and attaches the blood pressure cuff to my arm and oxygen sensor to my finger. "Steph, you look exhausted. Could I give a pain reliever that will also make you drowsy? It will make the wound clean out less taxing," he offers, resting a hand on my shoulder.

"Okay," I say, my blinks already longer. Ranger returns to my side, reassuringly holding my hand.

"Remember, you're safe, Babe. You won't be left alone," he says. I feel a burn of medicine injected through the line, and the last thing I remember is two chocolate brown eyes.

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**A/N: **Wow – you guys did it again. I'm so blessed to receive so many wonderful reviews on this story. Thank you for letting me hear from you! It motivates me so much. I promised a Q&A, but I didn't see many questions outside of something to the effect of "Tank the Terrible needs to go down!" I'm with you, Babes. The next chapter is the beginning of what many of you have waited impatiently for. 😊

I have two wonderful people to thank this week! My beta, misty23y, does a wonderful job of helping me through the writing process, and she's become a friend along the way. I also need to thank melyons for being my medical advisor. Melyons graciously read the next few chapters and helped me clean up the technical language and confirm the validity of the storyline. I'm afraid most of my medical knowledge comes from Google and _Grey's Anatomy_, and I am grateful for the expert eye.


	13. Chapter 13

**Disclaimer:** Anything recognizable belongs to Janet Evanovich, and the rest is mine. I'm grateful she lets us play.

**Warning:** Dark fic. Adult language, adult content, violence, smut. This is written for mature audiences only.

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**Chapter 13**

**Ranger's POV**

I wait until Steph's hand goes limp and her breathing evens out before releasing my grip. I let out a long, slow breath as an outlet for my emotions before walking over to the table where I placed Steph's clothes. I pull out two handguns, three knives, pepper spray, a stun gun, handcuffs, a couple of small monitoring devices and sensors, and extra bullets. I give my head a slight shake; I've been less armed on several missions than Steph is patrolling the Burg. I ensure the handguns are unloaded and safe before placing everything into a bag I pull out of one of Bobby's drawers.

"I've called in a favor from a friend of mine who works as a contract physician's assistant at the hospital in Princeton. Her name is Alexis Morgan, and the front desk is set to escort her up upon arrival. She's going to help me take shifts monitoring Bomber because I can't stay awake for three straight days. Alex also has ICU experience, and she'll be able to advise me better if I missed something," Bobby reports while in constant motion. "I expect the medicine I gave Steph to knock her out for approximately eight hours," he continues, setting up a nasal cannula and adjusting it around her head and in her nose, making several notes in his tablet.

"Wash your hands, Ranger, and put on some gloves. You can assist me with the wound clean out," he continues, never missing a beat. I move immediately, glad I can feel useful. I suspect Bobby can do this step without me, but I think he knows I need to be involved. Bobby pulls up a swivel stool near Steph's knee and begins the process of marking the edges of the infection, rinsing, and cleaning. He's quiet while he works other than to give me the occasional instruction. He's efficient but thorough, and soon I am throwing my gloves away and washing my hands once more.

Bobby finishes cleaning up, dims the lights in the room, and indicates with his head for me to join him in his adjacent office, leaving the door wide open.

Bobby perches himself on the edge of his desk and crosses his arms over his chest. "Steph's condition is serious, Ranger. It won't take much for me to recommend transport. I'll be monitoring her closely. I've administered antibiotics, and I hope to see her respond within the next few hours," he says seriously.

"Is it common for an infection to spread like this?" I respond, using the information to try to get a handle at my swirling emotions.

"It's not uncommon," Bobby replies. "Steph's been surviving on determination and grit, but with her immune system already compromised in several ways, her body is, unfortunately, a perfect breeding ground for infection. I assume someone cleaned the would out yesterday? It looked freshly bandaged," Bobby asks.

"Hector and I did using soap and water, and I applied bacitracin before dressing it," I respond evenly.

Bobby shrugs. "You did what you could. There was no way to know things would progress the way it did. It's not your fault," he says, and it only relieves a little of the gnawing in my stomach. "Overall, things have gone well today," he observes, keeping his eyes on the monitor attached to Stephanie. I raise my eyebrow in disbelief.

"Bomber honestly and willingly responded to the questionnaires. I suspected some of the answers without asking them, others I already knew from reviewing Steph's medical records, but I partly wanted to see how Steph would respond. I think she has turned a page, if you will, and wants to seek help. That's a huge indicator of future success," Bobby says evenly.

I consider his observation. A lot has happened since midnight, and I ultimately agree with Bobby. Stephanie is an extraordinary person, and I believe that when she sets her mind towards something, she can be unstoppable. This past year, she worked towards survival, and thinking about the lengths she went to in pursuit of that will fuel my workouts for years. Now, she's redirecting that energy into living again, and I'm glad she's allowing me to be by her side.

I feel my phone vibrate, and I unlock the home screen. Pete will be onsite with the contracts to execute Tank's buy out at 1700, and he sent me a draft to review. It reminds me I haven't spoken with Bobby about my plan to deal with Tank yet.

"There will be a Core Team meeting at 1730 in Conference Room Two with Pete. If you aren't busy with Steph, I'd like you to be there. I'm buying Tank out of his Rangeman shares. His leadership and management of Rangeman in my absence has not only been against the core values we developed when we chartered Rangeman, but many of his policies are also in violation of numerous laws. The buyout includes a severance, but he'll be required to sign a document acknowledging the violations, a non-disclosure agreement, and a non-compete agreement. Should he choose to open a new security firm, it will need to be greater than 200 miles from an existing Rangeman office, and vice versa. Lester is contributing 2.1 million dollars, increasing his total shares to 25%. I extended the opportunity to Hector last night to become a Core Team member, and he informed me a couple of hours ago that he will purchase 3.5 million dollars' worth of shares, or 5%. I told Stephanie about the buyout this morning as part of my negotiations to convince her to come into the Rangeman building. She then gave me another 3.5 million in cash that she had hidden in her apartment and offered to be a silent partner. I intend to make her a Core Team member as well, but I'll wait to tell her until she's ready. That leaves me on the hook for the remaining 9% of Tank's shares," I state, and Bobby looks pensive.

"Tomorrow I will offer a settlement to all Rangeman employees affected by Tank's illegal policies. I'm optimistic that by forcing Tank out, it will send a message that Rangeman is once again an elite place to work, and I hope to be able to stave off any lawsuits or invasive government investigations into our workplace practices. Tank has left us in a very vulnerable position, and without taking these actions, I don't believe the company will survive another year financially," I continue, walking over to Steph to watch the steady rise and fall of her chest as I tamp down my anger. I return to where Bobby is leaning a minute later.

"Ranger," Bobby begins with resolve, and I regard him with interest. "You challenged me the last time we spoke, and I've reflected on it continually since. I will never be the leader you are, but I also need to be more careful about who I follow. Regardless of my strengths and weaknesses, I am an appointed leader of this company, and I failed to do more to oppose Tank. I put my head down and stayed in my lane, but the guys and Bomber needed an advocate. You're right. I technically did my job, but I failed at the most fundamental part of it. Our people, including that amazing woman lying in that bed, fighting to reclaim her life, needed me. You should never have come back to the shitstorm you fell into three days ago. I'm deeply sorry for the role I played. If you accept my apology, I would also like to contribute 3.5 million to Tank's buy out." Bobby's tone remained strong throughout, but his posture morphed into one of resolved contrition as he spoke.

"Done," I say immediately, holding out my hand to Bobby. He shakes it in relief. "We'll use this room to sign the paperwork at 1700 before meeting with Tank. Hector will remain here with Steph when I need to step out." I hear a knock on the infirmary door. "I'd be surprised if that isn't him now," I state, walking to the door. As I suspected, Lester and Hector are on the other side, and their faces reflect my internal concern when they catch a glimpse of Stephanie.

I usher them into Bobby's office while he conducts another round of vitals. "As you know, Steph cut her knee last night on the stairs while she was being forced into the holding room last night. Unfortunately, due to several other issues, the cut rapidly became infected, and she is more likely than not becoming septic in addition to having pneumonia. Bobby believes he caught the sepsis diagnosis early and that she can be treated here, but there is a back-up plan to transport her to the hospital in Princeton if she doesn't improve within the next twenty-four hours or if her condition deteriorates. She will be confined to this room for a minimum of seventy-two hours while Bobby monitors her. He's called in back-up, a PA from Princeton named Alexis Morgan, to assist. Lester, develop a security plan for the possibility of transport," I begin, staving off their impending questions. Lester nods his understanding of my order seriously, and I decide that when it comes to Steph, Hector's blank face is the only one that can rival mine.

"From here on out, all Rangeman procedures we follow will be applied equally to Steph. Per that protocol, Lester, I need you to inventory and secure her weapons in the armory. I've placed them in that bag," I direct, pointing to the desk. "Hector, later today go to her apartment to retrieve Rex and pack a bag of clothes and toiletries." I pause to look at my Babe's sleeping form.

"Steph is working hard to move forward, and she is taking her mental health seriously," I continue, shifting my gaze back to the two men before me. "However, she is also vulnerable as she works through this process. You will be sensitive to this," I continue, looking pointedly at Lester, "and Hector, you or I will be with her at all times, asleep or awake." Hector nods his head once, his expression grave.

"We will proceed with the hostile takeover of Tank's shares this evening. Bobby has also offered to contribute a value equaling 5% of Rangeman shares. Pete will meet us here at 1700 to sign the paperwork. Stephanie will be unable to sign, but Pete is working around it. Lester and I will accompany Pete to Tank's office to execute the buy-out and escort him from the building. If the PA is here and ready to assume care of Steph, Bobby will join us as well. Ella and Luis are standing by to pack up Tank's personal possessions.

"I've prepared a companywide electronic notification of the changes in the Core Team that will be released once the takeover is complete. From what I've determined, the other Rangeman branches did not adopt Tank's policies. I will be reverting all instructions and procedures to ones dated before Tank became the Trenton number one, at least until we can do a thorough scrub of the literature. There will be a branch-wide assembly tomorrow morning at 0800 to formally announce the change of command and present the settlement. Pete will be present for that meeting as well. Questions, comments, or concerns?" I finish, looking between them. Being in charge and having a mission to focus on is a good thing, and it helps keep me at an even keel when I'm otherwise helpless to do anything for Stephanie but wait.

"Fuck," Lester says quietly, looking at Steph. "Beautiful can't seem to catch a break. Of course, Ranger, anything." Lester turns and paces the room, completing several circuits before stopping to talk again. "How did we reach this point with Tank?" he says, and I'm not sure if he's talking to himself or me. "I always thought the four of us would be indivisible," Lester continues to muse, beginning his pacing again. "The longer he was in charge, the less willing he was to listen. Then one day I realized there was no longer an us but us versus Tank. We fell apart slowly, but by the time I understood what was going on, it was too late to fix it," Lester says and stops in front of me. "I guess that's not true. Today we fix it, but I wish there had been some way to avoid this outcome," he says glumly.

I reach out and grasp his shoulder. "We all do, but Tank knew better. He's the one who decided to violate Rangeman's charter and break the law," I say resolutely, and Lester nods in agreement before standing up taller. I glance at Hector.

"Make sure you take all electronic devices that are Rangeman property from Tank. I will lock out his accounts and push a mandatory systemwide password reset on all devices for everyone. I'm already running a back-up on the system in case he tries to do anything potentially catastrophic," Hector states, and I acknowledge him as Bobby walks into the room.

"No change," he reports, and my jaw clenches. "Tell me about Steph's living conditions," Bobby asks, looking between us.

"Basement studio, maybe four hundred square feet. Physically secure but worn," Hector replies.

"How's the ventilation? Moisture? Any signs of mold?" Bobby presses.

Hector frowns. "Poor ventilation, including no bathroom fan, no air conditioning, and only baseboard heat. _Estefania _secured steel sheeting over the one window and never opens it. I don't know about mold, but it always smells stale in there," he says in Spanish, and Bobby doesn't respond.

"Do a more thorough inspection when you pack her bag," I order, and Hector gives me a curt reply of acknowledgment. I need to find a way to convince Steph to move out of that hovel and, even if it isn't into a Rangeman apartment, or better yet, on seven with me, she needs to live in a better situation. "It's 1500 now. See you in two hours," I dismiss, waiting for Lester and Hector to leave before collapsing in the chair beside Stephanie and taking her hand.

My Babe is pale, and her skin, clammy. I can feel the heat from the fever emanating from her. Her breath is slow and wheezy, and the weight of how serious her situation is constricts my heart. I stare at the blip showing her pulse on the monitor, I can't imagine my own life continuing if it stopped.

Steph seemed incredulous when I confessed to her that the guys knew what I was too chicken to admit. She is my reason for breathing, but I would also sacrifice my own life in a second if it meant she would live. Ironically, I know she would do the same for me.

I'm a feared and respected man by nearly everyone, but I also harbor a deep insecurity about opening my heart up to anyone. I spend the past year re-examining the purpose those walls have in my life, and my Babe is the inspiration. Sitting beside Stephanie during Bobby's examination today gave me a glimpse of her incredible courage. She willingly and bravely opened a window to her soul, and I'm not sure that, if in the same circumstances, I would have answered the questions as openly and honestly. It's that understated determination that gives me the most hope that her unseen wounds will be healed.

Listening to Steph's confession about being sexually assaulted four times nearly broke me today, but I understand her reaction to Farro better. I will never understand how a man can take advantage of a woman like that and get off on it. Morelli's career with the TPD will soon be over, and I'm going to take joy in watching his life fall apart. He is not the man I thought he was, and I always fix my mistakes.

I'm encouraged Steph told me about her history today, and it reinforces Bobby's observations and my gut instinct that she is on a path of healing. Steph is letting down her barriers and choosing to trust us, and her tears today are proof of that. She has carried too much alone for too long, and it's little wonder she couldn't hold herself together anymore. As hard as it was to do nothing but hold her hand while she wept, I'm a little relieved. It's still better than the hardened, closed off, self-abusing, and self-medicating Stephanie.

Hearing Steph allude to the one night stands she engaged in as well as her alcohol abuse made me think of every woman I've slept with and walked away from, and I feel sick about it. They may have been consensual partners who understood what was going to happen afterward, but I am now more aware of the emotional burden women, especially, often carry from those encounters. The only woman I will ever want to be with is Stephanie, and I hope that someday she will still consider a relationship with me after all of our history.

"Fight, Babe," I say fervently, squeezing her hand. "Fight to live, and fight for our someday. I love you." I kiss her burning forehead and lean back in my chair, maintaining my vigil.

I send Hector a text, and he arrives a few minutes later with a laptop. "Go pack Steph's bag and look for mold in her apartment now. I don't want to wait if it might help Bobby treat her," I state. Hector stares at Stephanie a long blink before turning on his heel and departing.

The next hour is spent reviewing contract revisions from Pete, approving documents from my accountants, updating the heads of the other Rangeman branches, and writing a letter to all Rangeman employees announcing the change of command. I hear a rap on the door and look up from my work to see Bobby greet a petite African American woman with a curly afro. She's wearing scrubs and greets Bobby with a dimpled smile and hug. I stand and set aside my computer to greet her.

"Hi, I'm Alex. You must be Ranger," she says with a firm handshake. I'm met with the immediate impression this woman has a steel core despite her bubbly exterior. She sets a medium-sized messenger bag on the counter and walks over to look at Steph without waiting for my response.

"Tell me what's going on, Bobby," she says, walking back to her bag and taking out a stethoscope. I take a post against the side wall and listen to the rapid exchange of information, half of it in technical terms I only understand via context. Alex conducts her own exam with Bobby's assistance before they both walk over to me.

"I agree with Dr. Brown's diagnosis. I concur that Stephanie may be mildly septic, but there has been no deterioration in her cognition or level of consciousness or cognition, which is positive. The biggest complication is possible organ failure and septic shock. We mitigate that by monitoring her bloodwork and vital signs and, of course, transport to the hospital if there is any deterioration," Alex states professionally.

"We're going to do an eight on eight off rotation monitoring Bomber," Bobby says, checking his watch. "Alex will start now, and that frees me up for our meetings with Pete and Tank. Should Steph wake up, Hector will be here to keep her from panicking. I've asked Ella to set Alex up with quarters on four."

"Good. Anything you need will be provided," I say, looking at Alex.

"I'll do my best to take care of her," Alex responds with a kind smile. "I can see Stephanie is an important person around here."

There's a knock on the door, and I open it to see a somber Hector. He steps in and closes the door behind him. "I inspected _Estefania's _apartment. I pulled the appliances away from the wall and inspected the cupboards and behind the baseboards," he starts in Spanish, flipping his phone around to show several photos. I raise my eyebrows at the large patches of black mold Hector found.

"I'm going to direct Ella to wash everything you took from Steph's apartment and discard anything that might have visible mold on it," Bobby says before pursing his lips together. I'm certain Ella will do so but also add in a fair mix of new items. I hope Steph won't protest, because I know giving is how Ella says she cares about people.

"We should also start Steph on Solumedrol, an IV steroid. Some of her respiratory issues could be due to an allergic reaction to her living environment, and I'm not going to wait for her to wake up to do the nebulizer treatment," Alex adds.

"Agreed. Ranger, we have to convince her to move out of there. She can't recover from this in those living conditions," Bobby states. He's right, but the best option is for Steph to reach that conclusion on her own. I'm about to respond when there's another knock on the door. I open it a crack to reveal Lester and Pete.

"Wait in Bobby's office," I direct, and they walk down the hall.

"Hector, Pete, the Rangeman attorney, is here. You're going to complete your portion of the paperwork next door and then remain here with Alex while we have our meeting with Tank. It should go without saying that while the meeting with Tank is important, Stephanie is more important, and you're to contact me immediately if her condition changes," I say firmly, in part to let him know that I am _all in_, as he advised two days ago.

"_Si, jefe_," Hector responds, his expression determined and serious before he strides into Bobby's office. (Yes, boss.)

I walk over to Steph and pick up her hand. "I'm going to go save Rangeman now, Babe. I won't be far, and I won't be gone long. Keep fighting, Babe. I love you," I whisper, giving her fingers a squeeze. I give Alex a stern look before striding into Bobby's office. She nods her head once with a tight smile, and I'm not sure if I should be impressed or not that she didn't appear to be scared.

"Let's get this over with," I announce, my blank face slamming into place.

Pete has a stack of documents, and twenty minutes later, the only thing we need is Tank's signature. I follow Hector's back with my eyes as he assumes his post next to Steph. As I force myself to walk out of the room and up the stairs to five, the reality of everything crashes down onto me. My Babe is laying on a bed, struggling for her life, mentally and physically, and I have to leave her to save my company, also fighting for its survival.

Tank betrayed me and everyone and everything I value and stand for. The sooner he is out of the building and my life, the better. I'm sure I'll mourn the loss of my friend at some point, but this is not that time.

Lester, Bobby, and Pete set up in conference room two while I march to Tank's office. "Conference Room Two," I bark.

Tank glances at the clock on his desktop. "That's not going to work for me," he replies dismissively. "I have a remedial PT session to run."

My blood pressure spikes, and I narrow my eyes. "No, Tank. PT is canceled. Conference Room Two, now," I say in a low voice.

Tank sighs dramatically and takes his time locking out his computer before walking towards me and stopping. "Back to this already, Ranger?" he says condescendingly. "You say jump, and I say how high? That's not going to work for me anymore. I've proven myself this past year."

I let my expression be my response. Tank shakes his head in contempt before striding towards the conference room. "This better be good," I hear him mumble under his breath.

I close the door after Tank enters the conference room, and Lester assumes a position guarding it. I watch stoically as Tank looks between the four of us. "What's going on?" he demands.

"Tank, I left you responsible for Rangeman. I've returned to find my company on the brink of bankruptcy with the loss or lack of contract renewal from more than one hundred clients in Trenton alone and in violation of multiple laws, which Pete will be laying out for you. Further, the employees of this company, the people who are the lifeblood of our success, are being abused by your unlawful policies and most are threatening to quit and/or sue. You continue to tell me that you've _proven yourself. _You certainly have. You've proven yourself to be a man who is blinded by power and mistreats those entrusted to your care; a man who is a grossly incompetent manager and leader, one who willfully ignores facts when it doesn't suit your erroneous perceptions; a man with blind ambitions who ruthlessly and illegally removes any perceived threats. _I_ trusted you, and I thought we shared the same values. I was wrong," I state, just barely reigning in my anger at this situation.

"This is about Stephanie, isn't it?" Tank immediately replies, derision dripping from his voice. "How dare you accuse me of violating Rangeman resources! How much money have you spent saving her ass when she wouldn't do the most basic things to save herself? How many Rangeman employees have risked their lives saving her when she's blown up another car, gotten kidnapped, is being stalked, or acted like the incompetent fuck up she usually is in the field? Do you think I don't know that she's holed up in medical right now? The only reason I allowed it is that it kept you out of my way while I actually run this business for a change. The men of this company love me because I value them for the warriors they are by protecting them from the constant disaster that is Stephanie Plum."

I see red, and I take several long, slow breaths to reign in my raging beast. "Stephanie IS one of us. She is a member of the Rangeman family and every bit a warrior as any one of us. Stephanie possesses honor, courage, valor, commitment, unselfishness, and bravery in levels I only hope to measure up to. She killed a man in self-defense, and you abandoned her, one of our own. You've been quick to forget everything she's selflessly done directly on behalf of this company, including making herself a target during distractions and when she identified the culprits stealing codes from the garage cameras. This is on top of all the cases she directly assisted in solving with research and footwork. More than that, she's the one who volunteered to allow herself to be kidnapped, not once, but TWICE, to save my daughter in addition to being the one to clear my name when I was FTA. In fact, Stephanie is the only person who called assuming I was innocent. Even you thought I was guilty, Tank," I say in a voice that is eerily calm but pointed in its execution.

"You are the coward, Tank, and you are the one who failed everyone in this company," I state, barely able to keep myself from enforcing my words with my fists.

Tank snorts and meets my look with utter contempt. "You are so pussy whipped. This company will fail within the year under your soft ideals of leadership. I'm not a coward; I_ bravely_ did the right things when you left to make the men, the real warriors, strong again, and they are grateful to me for it," he spits out with narrowed eyes. It takes every ounce of my famed restraint to push forward with the purpose of the meeting.

"Per the Rangeman charter, the Core Team will now vote whether or not to buy you out of your company shares," I say coldly. "All those in favor say, 'aye.'"

"Aye," Lester barks, and I don't have to look at him to know his fury matches my own.

"Aye," Bobby states angrily, arms crossed over his chest.

"Aye," I say definitively.

Tank looks shocked as he looks between Lester, Bobby, and myself, clearly taken aback by this turn of events. "You don't have the money for that," he starts defensively before abruptly trying another tact. "Okay, I admit it. I may have overstepped with some of my policies, but we can scale it back," he says, but the insincerity is plain. Then, he tries to explain himself. "The men were becoming weak. They were starting to struggle to maintain standards. They figured they could come out to play while the cat was away. I had to reinstate order and standards, which is what I did. I got the men back fit for duty. If it weren't for me and the new policies, the men would be fifteen pounds overweight and unable to fulfill their responsibilities. They are no longer wasting their money on useless comforts. They are able to save money. So much so that several of the men were able to move out of fourth-floor apartments into homes of their own. They are more productive members of society now than they were when you left, Ranger."

I give Tank a long, incredulous stare. "Pete," I say, shaking my head in disbelief at Tank's delusions.

Pete begins to explain the various contracts and terms of the buy-out, and I watch as Tank begins to realize everything he lost. He shifts from disbelief to resignation to anger again in under a minute. "This is all real rich, coming from you of all people, Ranger!" he yells, taking a step towards me. "You want to make ME the bad guy and force ME from a company I helped found and then carried whenever you played Captain America, all because you _claim_ I didn't follow the Goddamned rules? Since when in the holy living FUCK did following protocol ever matter to you? From the first day that Stephanie Walks-On-Water Plum entered your life, when did you do ANYTHING according to protocol? Sure, she did some things that helped the company, but it was at a helluva high cost that you seem to forget whenever it's convenient to you," Tank spits, trembling with fury and his fists clenched at his sides. Both Bobby and Lester have taken slow steps towards us and assumed fighting stances.

"The worst part is, Ranger, that you betrayed our friendship, hell, our brotherhood, all for a gold-digging bitch who has fucked so many men at this point her vagina must gape like the fucking Grand Canyon. No bitch is that good, especially one that's so used up. But you know, I shouldn't be surprised. When have you ever remained loyal to anyone but yourself? Sure, you fucked Rachel, but when a wife and a kid got in the way of your career, you dropped them hard. You fucked Stephanie and even took a bullet and then took a life for her, but you kept pushing her back into Morelli's arms. We all know what kind of a man that loser is, and you're such a self-loathing chickenshit that you preferred lurking after her, being a peeping tom in her bedroom, then make an honorable woman of her. I mean, you jumped off a Goddammed bridge for Christ's sake, but then walked away, seemingly content to have her fucking an asshole. Who does that? But what do I know, Ranger? I'm only your best fucking friend. No, scratch that, I _was_ your best friend, you fucking masochist," Tank spews with vitriol only matched by his volume.

I consider replying, but as I begin choosing my words, Tank marches over to Pete, then picks up the pen to scribble his signature where indicated.

"You're a fool, Ranger, but I'll take your money. Rangeman will be dead within the year without me, and you'll be penniless along with it. So much for your fancy cars and designer suits, and Stephanie, she'll be gone the minute she realizes you have nothing left in your bank account. But for me, I'll be just fine," Tank states arrogantly, rising to his full height.

I glance at Pete, who double checks the contracts before silently affirming everything is in order. On active duty, I learned that the Germans have a word, _schadenfreude_, with no English equivalent. It means joy felt at another's misfortune. My NATO colleague would use it when referring to the outcomes of some of our missions, but I never understood it until today. "You never did pay enough attention to detail, Tank," I say with a closed lipped grin. "The contracts you just signed places all monies from the buyout of your shares of Rangeman as well as your last years' worth of salaries and bonuses into a holding account until the final payment of all fines and settlements as a result of your illegal policies and practices are calculated," I inform Tank. "If the fines are greater than that amount, you've also agreed to be held personally liable for any excess. If you fail to pay within thirty days, interest will accrue, and we reserve the right to take any case of non-payment to court. In other words, Tank, _you_ not Rangeman will be held accountable, or you will go to jail." I watch Tank intently as I speak, waiting for the moment when he will inevitably snap. I anticipate it the half-second he decides to react.

"You SON OF A BITCH," Tank roars, lunging at me. Lester is on the move immediately, but I easily duck Tank's charge and knock him straight onto his ass, enjoying the sting to my knuckles from what I am sure will be a helluva shiner tomorrow. Lester pins Tank to the ground while I frisk his body for all Rangeman property and any weapons. Bobby is standing by to assist before assuming Lester's previous position near the door.

I stand over Tank and look down at a man I once considered to be a brother. "The only person responsible for the situation you find yourself in is you. Your self-initiated demise began when you turned your back on Stephanie. I will never forgive you for deliberately causing her harm," I state in a low tone, saturated with my fury. I pull back my foot and kick Tank with my full strength. He cries out and struggles against Lester's grip. "How do you like being kicked when you are down?" I question with controlled rage. "How many times did you PAY Vinnie for her injuries?" I push out forcefully, and for the first time, Tank looks genuinely afraid.

I kick Tank again, and he begins to whimper. "That wasn't a rhetorical question," I warn, my arms crossed over my chest.

"Fifty-seven times," Tank snivels, and Lester is trembling against his anger. My beast shakes the cage I contain him in, bending several bars in the process.

"The contract you signed also states that you will pay restitution of one hundred thousand dollars for each occurrence directly to Stephanie. Your confession will be verified. All Rangeman records have already been turned over to an independent forensic accounting firm that is working in cooperation with all manner of three letter agencies. If any illegal activity is uncovered, say embezzling or tax fraud, you have agreed to be held personally liable for those charges," I inform Tank. "You're the penniless fool, Tank, and I will gladly take your money and give it to those who deserve it."

I watch with _schadenfreude _as the full reality of this moment crashes onto Tank, and shake my head in disgust at the pitiful man laying at my feet.

"Lester will escort you from the building. Your personal effects will be delivered to your house within twenty-four hours. We're done here," I respond harshly before turning and striding out of the room, Bobby behind me.

I want to run back to my Babe, but I know I need to get my temper under control first. I head to the gym instead. Bobby clears Zip and Hal from the space before locking the door and scrambling the cameras. "Alex reports no change in Steph's condition. Get it out, Ranger," he says, and I pull on a pair of boxing gloves before slamming my fist into the bag.

I lose myself in the repetitive fury of the slamming of my gloves and feet, and Tank's words echo mercilessly through my brain. I lose track of time as _chicken shit_, _masochist_, and _fool_ rattle around. I want to dismiss them, but Tank's grandstanding, while crude, has elements of truth. I did fail to follow protocol when it came to Stephanie.

Lester steps into my line of sight and holds the bag. I ignore him, continuing my self-flagellation. I know he's trying to talk to me, but I'm too focused on beating Tank's words in or out, I'm not sure which, of my head to pay him any attention. Suddenly, he lets go of the bag, and Bobby and he tackled me to the ground. I struggle against them initially, but I'm not back in full fighting shape from the physical depletion of my last mission, and I give in. They both immediately release me, and I quickly stand and get a cup of water before leaning against the wall to compose myself.

Lester mimics my posture. "Don't do this to yourself, Ranger," he says quietly.

"Do what?" I spit back, my anger finding something to focus on.

"Don't listen to Tank. You'll only make him right, and none of us need that right now," Lester challenges.

"And why not? He's not wrong. All of us know it, and I've even admitted it. I treated Stephanie different than everyone else, and I set everyone up for disaster. I come back from a year away to find my company in ruins, Steph near death in both body and soul, and friendships irrevocably fractured. I am partially responsible for this, and I won't pretend otherwise, so don't you dare say _it's not my fault_ or some other _Good Will Hunting _bullshit," I reply acerbically.

"You're right, some of this is your fault," Lester replies evenly. "And by that measure, some of it is mine, Bobby's, and even Stephanie's. You can't heap the blame of the world all upon yourself; there's enough to go around. However, Tank's decisions to break the law in his quest to retain the throne, as it were, have nothing to do with you. He is the one who chose not to become the head of one of the other Rangeman branches, and we both know it was because he was too lazy and comfy here in New Jersey to get off his large ass and move. Once he realized we weren't going anywhere, he became bitter, and that bitterness festered and blacked his heart against us. Stephanie became his target of blame because blaming her was easier than taking a hard look at his choices."

I listen to Lester silently, his words gaining traction in my troubled mind.

"You and Stephanie have more in common than you realize," Lester continues. "Tank got the commonalities wrong, however. You guys aren't self-loathing. You're self-deprecating, disparaging even, and it needs to end. You are both inclined to think you have to reach some level of redemption before being worthy, whatever the fuck that means. When Stephanie came along, I saw you start to realize that, or at least realize that you wanted to love and be loved again. I think that you've already turned this corner, and I think that's why you put in your papers. I'll be honest. There were a few years there where I thought you were taking missions with the intent of never coming home, dying the decorated hero. It was Beautiful's light that was the change you needed, we all needed, to get out of that mindset.

"You know this. I know you do. Put the past behind you. Consider outing Tank your day of redemption, if you have to, and learn from this. But above all, move forward, eyes on the prize. Stephanie needs you, Bobby and I need you, Julie needs you, and Rangeman needs you. We need you leading us, and you can't effectively do that letting Tank wage psychological warfare in your head," Lester says, making his case.

I turn my head and give Lester a long stare before shifting my gaze to Bobby, and his expression does the talking for him, _he's right_ written all over his face.

I look down again. I should have done things differently when it came to Steph, but then, what else of our history would have been rewritten? No one can ever know. If I live in the past, I miss the present, and I cannot strategize my future. I do know this, but Tank's poisonous words, coming from a man who was once so close to me, cut deeper than I want to admit. The best I can do from here on out is refuse to be the man he thinks I am. I need to live.

I turn and give Lester a brotherly embrace, patting his back with my fist before doing the same to Bobby. I pick up my cup and throw it in the trash before striding towards the door. "Clean up and meet me outside medical in fifteen," I say, turning back towards them slightly. "Thank you."

* * *

**A/N: **I'm sorry for posting this later than my usual schedule, and thank you for your patience. I'm traveling this week, and my time is not my own. Additionally, I will confess to having some anxiety about this chapter, and it's fed into my reluctance to hit the final post button. I've rewritten it at least five times, each time adding and revising a little more. I'd appreciate hearing your reactions.

I again have two terrific contributors to this chapter. My beta, misty23y, was a tremendous help with my back and forth on this chapter, even after the initial posting of this chapter. Melyons offered excellent medical advice, ranging from the language of the diagnosis to the medications that would be administered to proper procedures. She gave this and several future chapters technical credibility. Thank you, Babes!

EDIT: Grammer


	14. Chapter 14

**Disclaimer:** Anything recognizable belongs to Janet Evanovich, and the rest is mine. I'm grateful she lets us play.

**Warning:** Dark fic. Adult language, adult content, violence, smut. This is written for mature audiences only.

* * *

**Chapter 14**

**Hector's POV**

I sweep _Estefania's _car for trackers and remove one before driving out of the garage. Fucking Tank doesn't know when to quit. I use my Bluetooth to voice dial Jose as I drive to _Mi Angelita's _apartment to pack her bag and inspect for mold.

"Hector," Jose answers on the second ring. "Is everything okay?" I never call during working hours, and I phone two times in a day even less frequently.

When Ranger escorted _Estefania _to Bobby's office this morning, I was relieved she agreed to be examined. She never complains about pain, and I knew that knee must be hurting more than a simple cut. Further, I can see she's starting to take down some of her walls. I don't like Bobby, but I don't dislike him either. When he pulls his head out of his ass, he can even be a decent human being. I'm hoping the two of them can get _mi Angelita_ to agree to therapy. I wish I had been able to convince her, but she was too entrenched in her heartache to listen to me.

I kicked Lester out shortly after and locked the door behind him before calling Jose for the first time today. "_Estefania_ pushed her panic button last night," I said after Jose answered. He patiently waited for me to continue. "She's alright physically, but I think she's starting to crack. She talked to Ranger and I about what happened after Farro," I said heavily. Jose is the only person I don't disguise how I feel around.

"Hector," he says seriously. "How are _you_ doing?"

"Alright. It brought me back to _mi Hermana_," I start, trailing off. "I think _Estefania_ might agree to help."

"That's good," Jose says quietly. "Keep the faith, Hector. Stephanie isn't Rosalina, and history doesn't always repeat itself." Jose gave voice to my deepest fear, and his assurance helped center me.

"Ranger is forcing Tank out of the company today. He offered to make me a member of the Core Team, but I have to purchase a portion of Tank's shares," I stated.

"Wow, that's amazing," Jose enthusiastically replied.

"I'm going to use the money from my auxiliary fund, but I wanted to speak with you first," I responded. I have saved a large amount of money from dealing with the gangs before working at Rangeman. Not all of it was obtained legally, and I've struggled with what to do with the funds. Giving it back to a company that works to keep the streets safer is a good solution to my ethical dilemma.

"Thank you for including me," Jose responded. "You didn't have to. I think that's a great idea, and congratulations, Hector. I love you," he said.

"I love you, too," I replied quietly before hanging up and making arrangements with my bank. As the day went on, I started to become concerned when _Estefania_ didn't return to my office. I began walking to building for a sign of her, running into Lester on my way, and we made our way to Medical together. A rock settled into the bottom of my stomach that hasn't dislodged since I saw _mi Angelita_ laying on the bed.

I keep my eyes on the road as I speed towards _Estefania's _apartment and listen to Jose's breathing. "Hector?" he repeats with concern.

"_Estefania_ was taken forcibly last night, and she fell, cutting her knee before pushing the panic button. She was so emotional afterward that while we cleaned the wound, it took second place to her mental health. She had it looked at by Bobby early afternoon, but by that time, an infection had spread. She's sedated and possibly septic, Jose, in addition to having pneumonia," I state, barely keeping my emotions in check as I barrel down the road.

"Oh my God," Jose replies under his breath. "Is she at a hospital?"

"No, Bobby is equipped to monitor her, but they'll transport her to Princeton if she gets worse," I reply automatically.

"That's good news, isn't it? I mean, from what you've told me, Ranger is very overprotective of Stephanie. If he thought she needed to be in the hospital, he would send her, so they must think she'll be able to pull through," Jose responds with a subtle tone of encouragement.

"I'm on my way to her apartment," I say, changing the subject. "I'm supposed to pack a bag and check for mold. Bobby thinks there's a chance something else is affecting her."

"Does she still have that cough you were concerned about?" Jose questions.

_Mi Angelita_ has nursed that cough for at least two months. I badgered her into getting it looked at, and she eventually went to the clinic a month ago. It got a little better, but not by much, and she refused to go back in for follow-up care.

"Yes," I reply curtly before sighing. "I'm sorry. I don't mean to take it out on you," I say contritely, struggling to keep myself in check.

"It's okay," Jose responds gently. "Remember that while you've been an incredible friend to Stephanie, she is the only one responsible for the choices she makes. You have shown your character by being there for her, encouraging her, and helping her as best as you can. No matter what happens, it isn't your fault, just like Rosalina wasn't your fault," he reminds me.

"I know, it's just, _damn it_, Jose," I spit out angrily. "She can't die!" I grip the steering while tightly while turning into _mi Angelita's _driveway and shutting off the engine.

"Keep the faith, Hector. I love you, and I'm here for you," Jose says sincerely.

I keep Jose on the line as I enter _Estefania's _apartment and begin packing and inspecting. I decide that I agree with Jose, and I'm grateful again for our relationship. From the beginning, Jose patiently waited for me to open up and share my story with him, and he's never judged me. He's included me with his friends and work, and he never pressed me to reciprocate. Jose understands that I am never ashamed of him or our relationship, but that I've kept the different parts of my life separate as a means of survival. Right now, I can feel that I'm losing grip on my emotions, and I won't be able to hold it together if _mi Angelita_ dies.

"Will you stay with me at Rangeman tonight?" I ask several minutes later, and I hear Jose's breath hitch in surprise.

"Yes, absolutely. When and where?" Jose eventually puts together. I almost smile imagining his face at my request.

"I'll text the address. 7 pm. Let me know when you arrive, and I'll open the garage and escort you through the building. I need to go," I state, pulling the fridge back and curling up my nose at the smell that hits me. "Thank you. I love you, too," I finish before hanging up.

_Estefania's _living condition is worse than I thought. The mold creeps up from the corner and spreads along the baseboard across the entire wall. I inspect the back of the fridge, and I discover a small leak in the waterline for the ice maker. It's also on the inside of the rear of the cabinets, but because it's so dim in here, no one noticed.

I return quickly to Rangeman and deliver my report to Bobby and a woman named Alex. I narrow my eyes at her as I listen to Ranger, Bobby, and she discusses my findings. Alex seems competent, but she won't be left alone with _Estefania. _Everyone concludes _Estefania_ must move from her apartment to promote her physical health, but if that isn't handled well, I'm worried it will come at the cost of her mental health. I shift my attention to Ranger when he addresses me.

"Pete Thompson, the Rangeman attorney, is here. You're going to complete your portion of the paperwork next door and then remain here with Alex while we have our meeting with Tank. It should go without saying that while the meeting with Tank is important, Stephanie is more important, and you're to contact me immediately if her condition changes," Ranger directs in Spanish, and I'm more than happy to stand guard over _mi Angelita_ versus confronting Tank. My money can do the talking for me.

I quickly sign where directed, anxious to be in the next room, even though there isn't anything I can do. Guilt is gnawing at me. I shouldn't have left _Estefania_ yesterday evening, and I should have known about Sanchez. I watch as Ranger kisses her forehead in farewell before he morphs into a man on fire and blazes out of the room, Lester, Bobby, and Pete on his heels.

I take a deep breath and let it out slowly in the quiet that settles in their wake, my eyes fixed on _mi Angelita_. Her complexion, save for two pink spots on her cheeks, is ashen, but her face is relaxed. I take her hand and shift my stare to Alex as she moves around the bed and begins to adjust _Estefania's _oxygen line.

"_¿Habla usted Inglés? No importa," _Alex starts, and I raise my eyebrow slightly in surprise. Her Spanish is flawless, but I'm not sure what the accent is. "_Puedes lucir tan temible como quieras a mi alrededor, pero estás perdiendo tu tiempo y energía. No me asusta voy a comenzar el tratamiento con nebulizador de Stephanie, así que por favor muévase a los pies de la cama. Ahora dime, Héctor, ¿quién eres tú para ella?_" (Do you speak English? It doesn't matter. You can look as scary as you want around me, but you're wasting your time and energy. I don't scare. I'm going to start Stephanie's nebulizer treatment, so please move to the foot of the bed. Now tell me, Hector, who are you to her?)

I stand, taking my chair with me, and move to where Alex directed. "English is fine," I reply after sitting down again and placing my hand around _Estefania's _foot. "I am _su hermano,_ and she is _mi hermana_, for lack of a better description," I say evenly, intrigued by Bobby's friend. "What is your accent?"

"I'm a Black-Latino from the Dominican Republic. I moved here when I was seventeen on a visa and earned my citizenship two years ago. I'm a reservist in the Army Medical Corps, which is how I earned my citizenship and met Bobby. What's your story?" Alex says evenly, continually working.

"I was sent here as a refugee at age eleven to be raised by an aunt near the end of the Guatemalan Civil War," I respond, surprising myself at the level of information I divulged. Something about Alex's nature makes even me want to share.

"Tough break," Alex says sincerely. "Don't worry too much about Stephanie, at least not yet. If Stephanie is septic, Bobby caught it at the earliest stages. Every intervention we're doing will help with the infection in her leg and her respiratory illness. From what I've gathered, it seems like she's had a pretty rough year, and sometimes a body needs to rest. My instinct is that this woman is healing, and I'm very rarely wrong," she says, placing a hand on my shoulder.

If Bobby told me this, I would probably dismiss him out of hand, but from Alex, I feel oddly comforted. I let some of the tension slip from my body and lean back in my chair, continuing my silent vigil. Alex talks out loud whenever she checks something, administers something, or thinks I'll want to know what's going on, and I appreciate that's she's attempting to build rapport with me.

Alex types out several texts on her phone as I receive one from Lester. Tank is out. I feel more tension fade away. Bobby sends me a note that Ranger is in the gym, and they will be up to relieve me soon. Good. Ranger needs to stay strong for _Estefania_, and I'm glad he trusts and respects my relationship with her.

The next forty-five minutes give me ample time to replay and sort out my thoughts regarding last night. There was a part of me that thought _mi Angelita_ would rather die than push her panic button, and I haven't been convinced, based on her bounty hunting tactics the past several months, that wasn't a part of her plan. I thought there was a good chance we were going to be recovering a body.

I've seen the special connection Ranger and _Estefania _shared, and I would never be offended if she chose to lean on him over me. I am humbled that she reached out to me equally in her sadness and grief last night. After sticking beside her through the worst, I want to believe Jose and Alex that things are getting better.

I suspected _Estefania _harbored negative thoughts about herself, but I was unprepared for her self-description. It's amazing to me how wrong we can see ourselves sometimes. It took _mi Angelita _and Jose for me to see myself clearly, so I'm not judging, but I never expected such an extreme viewpoint from a person who is so inherently good. It's a pity there isn't anyone associated with Farro I can take my anger out on, but thankfully, I don't have a talent for raising the dead.

I stand when Ranger enters the room, freshly showered with Bobby and Lester behind him. Alex shows Bobby _Estefania's _handwritten chart, and they discuss it amongst themselves before he disappears with her notes into the next room to log them into the computer, and Alex shakes her head in his wake.

"Still working on his bedside manner, I see," she chides with a crooked smile. "Stephanie is stable, no better, no worse, but it's only been four hours since she began receiving antibiotics."

I walk my chair back to _Estefania's _side for Ranger as Bobby reenters the room and wordlessly gives Alex back her chart. I look between him, Ranger, and Lester and decide to get my announcement over with at once rather than have the three of them pester me individually later. "My fiancé, Jose Lopez, will be staying on four with me tonight. I'll bring him up to meet you after his arrival," I state nonchalantly in English as four sets of eyes lock onto me. Alex looks intrigued, Lester is astonished, Bobby appears mildly interested, and Ranger almost smiles. I'm not sure if it's because I spoke English or announced I have a social life, but I appreciate being unexpected.

"Congratulations, Hector," Ranger says, raising an eyebrow. "I look forward to meeting him."

I nod in response as my phone vibrates. Jose is here. I step out of the room and take the stairs two at a time down to the garage, calling the duty desk as I do.

"This is a guest of mine. Allow him to park, and I will escort him to you for a visitor's badge," I state, and Zip complies.

I stop at the door between the stairwell and the garage, removing my ring from my chain and sliding it onto my finger. It's time for me to be all in.

"Wow, Hector," Jose says, stepping out of his vehicle. "Is that a Porsche?"

I give a slight smile. "Several, actually. I need to escort you through security first. You'll be required to wear a visitor's badge on you at all times, or you may find yourself forcibly removed from the building," I state, walking around Jose's car and taking his overnight bag from the passenger seat.

"Once people understand that you're with me, nobody will question you," I continue, leading Jose to where Zip is staffing the desk. I guide Jose through the intake procedures quickly before directing us to my apartment on four. Butterflies take flight in my stomach the closer we get. I set my lips as I fob open my door and hold it open for him.

The lights automatically turn on, and I lock the door behind us. Jose stops a couple of feet in and looks around, beginning with the kitchenette on the left, table for two against the far wall, and sitting area with TV on the right. "The bedroom is this way, bathroom attached," I say, feeling more nervous than I should as I step inside to set Jose's bag down on the bed.

"This is…," Jose begins, his eyes wide.

"Sterile, spartan, impersonal," I finish, a smirk playing at the corners of my mouth. "Tank again. He's gone now. You're looking at Rangeman's newest Core Team member," I brag, unable to stop the smile that grows.

"Damn straight I am," Jose replies, his smile matching mine. "Sexiest one, too," he continues, taking a step towards me.

I snort. "You haven't met Ranger yet, or as _Estefania _used to call him, the Cuban Sex God," I reply, my eyes tracking each of Jose's movements with playful interest.

"I don't have to," Jose says seriously before kissing me. When the kiss ends, I rest my forehead against Jose's with my eyes closed, not fully realizing before this moment how much I needed him to get through the next twenty-four hours as I recover from the last.

"Thank you for coming," I say, embracing him. "I know this isn't how we discussed the big reveal, but," I falter.

"You don't have to thank me," Jose interjects. "The point of us is that you don't have to do this alone." I let out a long breath before taking a step back, observing Jose as he takes another look around my apartment. He gives a long look at the bed before shifting his gaze back to me seriously.

"Please tell me that isn't the only blanket you have. Did you steal it from a prison?" Jose questions, concerned. The bedding set includes a single, coarse canvas covered feather pillow with quills so sharp I wonder if anyone has ever had their eye poked out, 100-thread count white sheets, and a grey, wool blanket so rough I could use it as sandpaper in a pinch.

I laugh for the first time in days, and it feels great. "I'm told that's military issue," I eventually respond, laughing again at Jose's bemused expression while walking to my closet and pulling out a locked trunk. "Tank strikes again. I keep it there for show, but even he isn't crazy enough to go through my property," I explain, unlocking the trunk and revealing a comforter, sheets, and pillows.

"Oh, thank God," Jose exclaims in relief. I finish showing him around before returning to the kitchen and pulling out two bottles of water.

"I'm going to give you a quick tour of the building," I state, my expression becoming serious again. "After that, I'll take you to see _Estefania_, and you'll likely meet Ranger, Lester, Bobby, and a PA named Alex. We'll be able to get dinner from the break room before returning here for the night." I stop, looking away from Jose a moment as I feel slightly off balance while attempting to merge my two lives together. He places a hand over mine.

"I'm a feared man here, and it's better for me and you if it stays that way," I tell Jose somberly. "You will be talked about, but not directly. I won't do any public displays of affection, but the men will know you are under my protection."

Jose gives me a small smile. "I understand, and I respect you. This wasn't planned, but I'm grateful I can be here for you," he says, twisting my ring with his fingers. "I know who you are and how you feel about me. That's enough."

I nod my head again, my chest swelling in thankfulness for the man before me. I pull a fob out of my pocket and pass it to him. "This will allow you access to certain parts of the building. I'll show you," I say, escorting him to the door. My blank face falls into place before we exit.

The only people in the building at this hour are the night crew. No one stays after hours or, even if they live on site, leave their apartments except to go to the gym after working hours anymore. I wonder how many employees know of Tank's departure. Jose is silent as I show him my office, the gym, and breakroom before heading down to Medical. I rap twice on the door, setting my jaw in nervousness.

Lester opens the door and gestures us to Bobby's office. Ranger stands from his seat beside _mi Angelita_ and follows us. "Ranger Manoso," Ranger says with more warmth than I expected from the usually stoic man, holding his hand out to Jose. "I'm glad I have the opportunity to meet you, although I wish it weren't like this."

"Jose Lopez and I'm pleased to put a face to the name. Welcome home, although I wish it weren't like this," replies, matching Ranger's warmth. I watch has Jose's eyes quickly assess Ranger, and I see the moment when he picks up that I'm watching him. I don't care that he's checking out Ranger. I certainly did the first time I saw him. I mean, he'd have to be dead not to check him out.

"Lester Santos," Lester says, and I'd be annoyed at the fish-eating grin on his face, but it's been so long since I've seen him smile at anything, I can't help but be amused; not that I'd let it show. "Welcome to Rangeman."

"Bobby Brown," Bobby says, standing from his desk chair.

"I'm not often at a disadvantage," Ranger says, looking genuinely interested, "But I'm left with the impression you know a great deal about us while we know nothing about you. Where are you from? What do you do?"

"I'm a California native, though my grandparents moved to this country from Mexico," Jose starts. "I'm a Professor of Latin Studies at Princeton. I met Hector when I was conducting fieldwork in a socio-economically disadvantaged part of Trenton."

Lester laughs. "That's a nice way of putting it. Working on State Street?" he says, and Jose laughs sheepishly. "How long before your car was stolen and your wallet disappeared?"

Jose shakes his head. "About ten minutes," he admits. "I'm pretty sure I don't want to know how Hector got it back for me." I give a small smile in response.

"How is she doing?" I ask, glancing at my watch and seeing it's a little after 9.

"No change," Bobby sighs. "The pain reliever I gave her will wear off within the hour. We will try to wake her then. If she's able to answer questions and be mobile enough to use the restroom on her own or with Alex's assistance, that will be a good sign."

"We'll wait," I state before walking over to _mi Angelita _and resting my hand on her shoulder. "Be strong. You can do this," I whisper, and her eyelids begin to flutter. I grip her shoulder more firmly. "_Estefania_?"

Her eyes flash open, and she sits upright defensively, curling away from my hand as she scans the room furtively. "_Estefania_, it's okay," I say again, catching Ranger's attention. He's beside me in two strides, and Bobby meets her on the other.

"Babe," Ranger says. I watch in amazement as _mi Angelita _locks her eyes on him and freezes. "You're at Rangeman in Bobby's office. You're safe. You have an infection in your knee that spread throughout your body, and you are being treated here," he explains in a calming voice. _Estefania_ begins relaxing her posture when Bobby clears his throat, startling her. She grabs the blanket and pulls it in front of her, pressing against the back of the bed. I catch Alex giving a slight shake of her head outside of _Estefania's _line of sight, and I like her a little more.

"_Mi Angelita_, you're safe. Ranger and I are here. Bobby is beside you, and a Physician's Assistant named Alex, my fiancé Jose, and Lester are near the doorway to Bobby's office. That's it. You are okay," I explain, making no effort to touch her. _Estefania _slowly looks around the room, verifying the information I'm giving her before relaxing again.

She keeps the blanket pulled up around her body as she looks at Ranger again. "How are you feeling, Babe?" he asks, shooting a quick warning glance at Bobby.

"I need to use the bathroom," she whispers, embarrassed, and I let out a long breath of relief.

Ranger looks at Alex, and she walks over to him. "This is Alex. The guys will step out, and she will help you with whatever you need," Ranger continues to explain.

"Hello, Stephanie," Alex says kindly. "It's nice to meet you."

_Estefania_ nods her head slowly in acceptance. I'm about to leave when _Estefania _locks eyes with Ranger and whispers, "Stay?" I silently catch Jose's attention before leading him out of the room behind Lester and Bobby. _Mi Angelita _needs space and time to continue healing.

"Keep me updated. I'll check in again soon," I inform Bobby before heading to four, Jose beside me.

* * *

**A/N: **It's hard for me to say how thrilled I am at the reception to the last chapter. I'm sure we haven't heard the last from Tank, but I'm glad you liked how Ranger and company dealt with him so far. To everyone who left a comment – many thanks! My time has been extremely limited in the past two weeks, and each note gives me the encouragement to keep working to find the time to add another paragraph to the next chapter.

One reviewer commented that writing this story must be difficult for me emotionally. To be honest, not writing it is harder. I find that in my day to day, little anxieties have a tendency to build up inside me, and redirecting those emotions to pen and paper, as it were, helps keep me focused and centered. That I get to hear from all of you is a wonderful bonus.

This Fandom is truly a community, and my world has become bigger because of it. Misty23y is a dedicated and hard working beta who never tires of my revisions and rewrites. Thank you for your patience with my ever-changing outline and train of thought. You're the best. Melyons has given her time and expertise to make the medical portion of this story credible. Thanks, Babe!


	15. Chapter 15

**Disclaimer:** Anything recognizable belongs to Janet Evanovich, and the rest is mine. I'm grateful she lets us play.

**Warning:** Dark fic. Adult language, adult content, violence, smut. This is written for mature audiences only.

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**Chapter 15**

**Tank's POV**

Ranger is a dumb fuck, getting himself hitched to a piece of ass. Didn't he learn from Rachel? That viper played him like a violin, getting knocked up, then tying him to her. He sends an exorbitant amount of money to Miami for his brat, Julie, and her half-siblings. I'm sure Stephanie will have him stuck supporting another brat in no time. Lula, it's time for me to tell Lula that we're moving to Louisiana. She was always good at helping me fuck with Stephanie, at least until Stephanie decided to become a one-woman show. That's why I made a deal with Vinnie. Someone had to get her out of her job.

I can't believe that Ranger would give up everything for a little white girl from the Burg. He's had so many better women. Hell, even Rachel was better. But Stephanie? She's so white, so plain, so crazy. I don't understand what he sees in her. From what Morelli told me, she's a lousy lay.

Why did Lester and Bobby go along with Ranger? For the last year, neither one of them tried to stop me. Well, that's not true. Lester questioned me after Cal and Binky requested their transfer. He became a greater pain in the ass after that moment. I don't understand why Lester was always showing up near Little Girl. Maybe he's tapping her too. Maybe Ranger shares her with his cousin. Those two always did have a weird sense of familiarity.

I knew Steph was trouble when she showed up at Rangeman during the Slayer incident. I thought, for sure, that Ranger was going to make us kick the slut out of his bed, but instead, he told us to let her stay. I wonder if that's when they started to fuck. Morelli says that's when his relationship with Steph started to go downhill. Now, Morelli no longer wants Stephanie, but he doesn't want to see her happy or with Ranger.

The thing that pisses me off the most, however, is that the Core Team, my former brothers-at-arms, think that Stephanie, the incompetent fuck up, is a better warrior than me. I've proven myself on battlefields around the world. I am a man my country has honored and who fellow Soldiers admire. I am an expert in my field, and I inspire other men to rise to my caliber. Little Girl is nothing more than a child playing at a man's game, and she is outclassed at every turn. Ranger is not the leader I thought he was, and I now consider him to be my enemy.

The first thing I need to do, however, is protect my assets. I down another beer and log into my bank account. I have more than five million dollars sitting pretty, and I bet I could sell this house for another million-dollar profit if I needed to. I can do quite well for myself with that kind of cash. Ranger made some bullshit comment about me forfeiting my pay for the past year. Well, let them try. They can't take what they can't find. Once I have the paperwork sent to my bank, I crack open another beer and rub my sore ribs. I think the motherfucker broke one.

Then it dawns on me. Hightailing it to Louisiana, never to be seen or heard from again by Ranger and his cohort, is exactly what they want me to do. Well, fuck him. I'm not going anywhere. Ranger says I proved myself incompetent. Well, we'll see about that.

My first call is to Morelli. While I firmly believe Ranger's leadership will destroy Rangeman, there isn't any harm in my accelerating the process, especially now that we are competitors. I think the easiest way to go is to fuck with the gun permits. Morelli should be able to delay the renewal licenses, allowing for a few of the guys to get arrested. Next, I need to speak to Vinnie. Since I'm going to stay in the area a little longer, I need him to give me all the high bonds. I'll turn them in, building some additional capital to make my move in Virginia with the added bonus that it will be lost income to Rangeman.

Ranger may have specified 200 miles in his fucking contract, but Quantico is 205 miles from Rangeman Trenton. I'll open my own security firm there, drawing talent from the government training facilities there. After it's established, I'll remain headquartered in Quantico but begin doing operations in D.C. I know that's Ranger's long-term goal, but not for another five years. He tried to protect himself with the non-compete clause, but, once again, I'm proving myself to be the better man.

If I manage to destroy the bulk of Rangeman first, all the better. But I'll be the one in D.C., established and thriving before he can make his move. Then we'll see the Mighty Manoso fall to his knees before me. Maybe, I'll let him buy my company, if he's still in business that is, before taking a turn with Stephanie. Since she's only after men with money, she'll slide into my bed the moment I've wiped out Ranger. Once she has me, she won't want that Cuban mother fucker any longer. You know the cliché, once you go black you never go back; well, she'll be mine to toss on the curb for the street rats to enjoy, where she belongs.

**Stephanie's POV**

Darkness morphs to shadows and muffled sounds begin to form words. My deadened limbs fire to life one nerve ending at a time. Like a freight train approaching, my senses return with the steady emergence of consciousness. Also like a train, as consciousness presses forward, the world around me is increasingly loud, overwhelming, and jumbling with such velocity that I can't immediately make sense of it.

I flutter my eyes open, but it's the hand on my shoulder that registers first. _Why is someone touching me?_ I instinctively move, seeking safer territory.

"_Estefania_, it's okay," I hear. Hector. I'm scanning the room, trying to orient myself when I feel a tingle shoot down my spine.

"Babe," Ranger says. I feel myself fixate on Ranger, and the flurry in my brain is dampened by his presence. "You're at Rangeman in Bobby's office. You're safe. You have an infection in your knee that spread throughout your body, and you are being treated here," Ranger explains, and I find his voice soothing. His explanation isn't patronizing, and my memories connect with his words. I'm in a safe...

I jump at the sudden sound behind me, cursing myself for being careless with my defenses. I feel more aware of my dress, or lack of it, and I pull the blanket around myself as though it were a shield.

"_Mi Angelita_, you're safe," Hector says, and I deliberately shift my focus on him. A part of me feels foolish, but I've also slept alone for a long time. To wake up with so much happening around me is too much for me to process, and I am frightened by the disorientation. "Ranger and I are here. Bobby is beside you, and a Physician's Assistant named Alex, my fiancé Jose, and Lester are near the doorway to Bobby's office. That's it. You are okay," Hector states, giving me some much-needed situational awareness. I attempt to put a face to each name, grounding myself.

I let out a slow breath. _Trust. Remember, you are choosing to trust_. I'm not willing to lower my blanket, but I return my attention to Ranger.

"How are you feeling, Babe?" he asks calmly, but I see him send a cautionary look beyond me. It tells me he has my back, and that he is looking out for me. How am I feeling? I have my left leg curled into my body, but my right one is stiff and remained in front of me. My head hurts. But damn, my bladder is about to burst.

"I need to use the bathroom," I whisper, hating to vocalize this need in front of all of these people, and I feel the heat of my blush bloom across my cheeks.

Ranger looks beyond me again and calls a woman over to him. "This is Alex. The guys will step out, and she will help you with whatever you need," Ranger states in the same steady voice.

"Hello, Stephanie," Alex says kindly. "It's nice to meet you."

Alex has a warmth I can feel even in my uneven state. I glance at Hector and Ranger almost as though looking for permission to trust Alex. Hector gives me a small nod of encouragement. _Trust_. Ranger and Hector would never hurt me. If they say Alex is okay, I'm willing to give her a chance, especially if it means I don't pee the bed.

Hector gives me a small smile before turning to leave. Ranger is about to follow, and the volume of panic begins to rise. I quickly shift my gaze to him, and I'm holding my breath when he stops. "Stay?" I whisper. I am willing to accept Alex's help, but I know I cannot handle being here alone with a stranger. In the back of my mind, I know Ranger intends to respect my privacy and that he wouldn't be far away, but that's still too far. I have exercised control in everything for the past eight months, and right now, I am not in control. The aura of command he exudes is giving me that same sense of confidence vicariously, and I find myself able to focus more readily with Ranger near.

Ranger moves slightly closer to me and sets his hand on the side of the bed. "Of course, Babe," he says quietly. When the door closes behind Hector, Alex begins to speak, and I find her tone gentle but authoritative.

"If you think you can walk supported, Stephanie, I can assist you to the restroom. Otherwise, I can set you up with a catheter," Alex says. I can't imagine pain big enough that I would choose a catheter over walking if I had any say in it.

"Walk," I state, my eyes narrowing.

"That's what I thought," Alex responds pleasantly. "Would you like me to assist you or Ranger?"

"Ranger, but I will do my business alone," I immediately respond with an edge of challenge.

"Stephanie, given your injury and the medication we've administered, you are at risk of falling. I will need to stay in the restroom with you, but we can turn on the water, and I promise I won't look unless necessary," Alex replies unfazed. "I'll manage your IV line while you turn to step out of bed. Ranger," Alex continues, nodding in Ranger's direction.

I don't like her answer, but it's reasonable, and I'm not in a position to argue lest the catheter become a more viable option. I feel my bladder and muscles groan in protest as I begin to move, but I swallow the pain away and accept Ranger's arm under my shoulders as I stand on my right leg. I feel myself sway and the room spins. I look at the door across the room, and it might as well be a marathon. "Carry me," I tell Ranger, leaning against him heavily.

Without a reply, he deftly slides an arm under my thighs, and I appreciate that he is taking care not to disturb my leg. What would have taken me ten minutes or more takes Ranger ten seconds, and he closes the door behind him before I use the wall as support to sit on the seat and find sweet, sweet relief.

The act of standing and raising my panties again is exhausting work, and I have no idea why Alex looks so thrilled. I lean on her to wash my hands and rinse my face, closing my eyes as I lean against the wall when Alex gets Ranger again.

"Babe," I hear, and I open my eyes to slits to visually confirm his presence before nodding my head in weary agreement. I don't know how long I slept, but I feel completely exhausted, and I'm dead weight in his arms. "I've got you. You're going to be okay," he says in a voice so low, I know it was meant only for me. I'm reasonably sure it wouldn't matter to Alex if she heard what he said or not, but the fact that Ranger kept the message private feels intimate, and the words convey a greater sense of safety.

He sets me on the bed again as lightly as possible and begins to pull the blanket up. I shake my head no. The exertion has left me breathless and sweating.

"I'm going to check your vitals," Alex says from my right, and I fix my attention on her, cooperating easily. She writes down several notes on a pad of paper before addressing me directly again. "Would it be okay with you, Stephanie, if I invited Bobby back in?" she asks with a pleasant smile.

"Sure," I say, pulling the blanket across my lap for modesty's sake. I can't wait to change out of this gown.

I follow Alex's departure from the room with my eyes before looking at Ranger again. He pulled up a chair and is sitting beside me so that we are at eye level. The simple act increases my sense of security an unexpected amount. He's not going anywhere, and him not towering over me decreases my sense of defensiveness. He gives me a small smile, reserved just for me.

My attention immediately transfers to the door when Alex enters with Bobby behind her. He looks chagrined and pulls up a seat next to Ranger. "I'm sorry for startling you, Bomber. I know I need to work on my bedside manner. I'll be more careful in the future," he says sincerely with Alex standing behind him. I wonder what she said to him in the next room, and my interest in Alex has risen. Not many people can positively affect the behavior of anyone at Rangeman.

"Thank you," I reply, and Bobby gives an easy smile in return.

"Alright Stephanie, the good news. Your fever is breaking, and your vitals are stabilizing. You aren't out of the woods yet, but it does mean that the antibiotics seem to be working. We aren't going to ease up on any of our interventions, however, or the progress you've made will certainly slide. At the end of seventy-two hours, if things progress like this, we will be able to take you off of fluids and oxygen and switch to oral antibiotics," Alex says warmly, and I feel a sense of relief wash over me.

"I'm especially heartened that you are able to communicate with us, Steph. Sepsis patients often present with significant mental confusion. I feel we caught the infection early enough that I don't have any concerns about continuing your care here. I can have Ella bring you a light dinner and a set of pajamas if you'd like," Bobby continues, and I let out a slow breath.

"Okay," I say again, quietly.

"I'll do that before heading to bed. Alex will stay with you until 0600, and I'll turnover with her again at 1400," Bobby says, standing. I glance at Ranger.

"2 pm," he says, his eyes warm. "It's 10 pm now."

"Are you in any pain?" Alex asks.

"Yes. Head, knee, and general achiness. About a six, but I don't want any meds that will knock me out right now," I quietly explain as I see a look of concern flash on Ranger's face.

Alex makes a note on her pad. "Alright, Steph. You're due for some ibuprofen, and I will administer that. I'll check in with you again after you change and eat, but please ask me before then if you need anything," she says in the same kind but no-nonsense tone before excusing herself to the next room.

I rest my head against the pillow, letting all tension drop from my shoulders and search Ranger's face. So much has transpired the last twenty-four hours I don't even know where to begin. "Thank you," I say, reaching my hand out to his.

Ranger wraps his fingers around mine with a slight tilt to his head. "No price, Babe," he replies. My heart sinks as slowly exhale a long breath, my posture slouching as I do.

"But I think there might be," I whisper back, and Ranger raises an eyebrow slightly. "The price is my life. You're saving it, again."

Ranger leans forward slightly. "Then we're even, Babe," he says seriously, and it's my turn to look confused. "My heart was closed off before I met you. I lived, but I wasn't alive. You, by being you, gave me back my daughter, helped me to reprioritize my familial relationships over my work, and, most importantly, opened up my heart again. You taught me that I can only love others as much as I love myself, and I have spent this past year making changes to be a better man."

I give Ranger's hand a slight squeeze, words failing as his reverberate inside of me. How much do I love myself? The easy answer is not very much, and I feel a wave of mourning for the person I once was wash over me. I look down as I fight the unexpected tears. "Babe, look at me," Ranger says quietly.

I do as he says, my chin trembling. "What if I lost my ability to love when I killed Farro?" I whisper through my unsteady lips.

Ranger's expression melts, and he slowly reaches up and brushes my hair from my eyes and tucks it behind my ear. "It's not possible, Babe," he says thickly. "I will say it again and again. It doesn't matter to me what you've done, who you've slept with, who you've killed or hurt, or anything else. It matters to me who you are, and you are the best person I know. I love you unconditionally, and I'm not saying that to pressure you in any way. I only want you to know that you are loved and accepted for who you are this very second." I hear him, but I don't.

"There's a rational part of me that agrees with you, and I feel the internal call to change my life and perceptions. But there's another, darker part of me that whispers how evil I am, how unforgivable I am, and I feel ashamed. I feel as though I committed the worst sin, and when I took Farro's life, mine became forfeit with his. I don't feel lovable, and it's why I did so many other things. I tried to mask the pain, and when that failed, validate it. I didn't sleep around, Ranger. I allowed myself to be fucked and beaten as penance because I chose my virtue over another man's life. The worst part is that sometimes I got off on it," I confess directly. He says he loves me, but I don't think he knows who I am anymore. On some level, I know I'm challenging him to see if he'll flinch first. Ranger's compassionate expression doesn't waver, and after studying his face a few moments, I continue in a softer tone.

"Again, I intellectually understand that Farro isn't my fault, that I have the right to protect my body and sexuality, and that I am worthy of love. I hear you when you say that what I've done doesn't matter, and while my heart desperately wants to believe you, I only feel like you can say those things because you don't know the truth. If you did…," I trail off as I single tear drips from the corner of my eye and lands on Ranger's hand.

He gently kisses it away before replying, "I do know, Babe. I know the different ways pain can manifest itself, and I do_ not_ judge you. I appreciate the turmoil inside your heart and therapy will help, I promise. In the meantime, please know you are not alone. When you can't see yourself the way those who love you do, it isn't a weakness to lean on us, it's a strength. I'm in awe of how far you've come in twenty-four hours."

I study him again. I've spent the last several months building firm barriers and severing or redefining all of the relationships in my life as a way of strengthening my defenses. There is strength in that, and I'm glad I did some of the things I did. Before Farro, I let myself be used as a doormat by my family, many of my so-called friends, and my community. I considered entering into marriage with a man who constantly disapproved of me and would likely cheat on me during our marriage just because everyone told me that we should be together. In that way, I have begun to value and love myself. I sought training, and I am physically stronger and more capable. I made a decision to no longer let myself be limited by the expectations of others, and in some ways, it was liberating.

However, while my external defense is strong, I'm self-aware enough to recognize that I'm barely holding it together internally. I feel myself running out of the fight, and I know I am losing my sense of self. I have a difficult time reconciling Ranger's words with my view of myself because he comes from a vantage point of good and mine comes from a vantage point of bad. I don't think I can cross that chasm on my own.

Letting Ranger, Hector, Lester, and Bobby into my defenses doesn't mean I have to dismantle my survival system. It means I'm allowing them to stand the watch with me. Just as Alex and Bobby are going to take turns with my care so that neither of them becomes too fatigued, perhaps the same is true with my life. I occasionally let Hector in before, but if what Ranger says is true, strength doesn't have to be a solo endeavor.

"Alright," I say, and Ranger gives me that smile I know is only for me. I glance at the door to Bobby's office as Alex knocks to announce her presence.

"I have the clothes and food. Which would you prefer? Eat then change or change then eat?" Alex states in the same perpetually cheerful voice that manages not to sound condescending or annoying.

"Change," I reply immediately. I hate hospital gowns with a burning passion.

"That's what I would do, too," Alex says, flashing her dimples. "Ranger?" she questions, looking at me.

I shift my attention back to Ranger. He's seen me naked before, but I feel like there is a shift of intimacy happening between us, and I suddenly feel shy about it. "Would you mind stepping out?" I ask.

"No problem. I'll be in Bobby's office," Ranger says, giving my hand the same comforting squeeze before stepping out. I'm again left with the impression he'd rather kiss me, and I'm not sure how I feel about that.

Alex disconnects the IV and oxygen lines so that I can shift out of the robe. She offers me several warm washcloths and personal products to clean up, and the act of being cleaner and smelling like the fragrances of my bathroom items is comforting. The pajamas and underpants are new, and no doubt I have Ella to thank for them. Alex helps me slide on a pair of dark purple sleeping shorts and matching short sleeved button up top. The fabric is delectably soft cotton, and between the pajamas and resting on an actual bed, I feel more comfortable that I have in months. I'm not even coughing as much, and I hadn't realized how heavy my chest felt until my airways began to open again.

Even still, I feel fatigued and achy when we are done and appreciate it when Alex tucks the plush blanket around me again. She pulls a small table close and sets a tray of soup, crackers, and sliced banana on it. Ella placed a bright pink mum in a vase in the corner, and I can't help but quirk a smile at the thoughtfulness. "Shall I invite Ranger back in?" Alex asks as she finishes taking my temperature and blood pressure. I nod my head yes while stifling a yawn.

A second later, Ranger is sitting beside me again, his hand gently holding mine. "I'm continuing to see some improvement," Alex says, "but I can also see that you are hurting."

"Yeah, I'm ready for some meds," I say reluctantly.

"Good idea. Your body needs to rest and heal. I'll administer the medicine, and you eat. The food will help prevent your stomach from getting upset and help you regain your strength," Alex directs, and Ranger immediately complies by picking up the soup bowl and passing it to me with a napkin underneath.

I feel the slight burn of medicine through the IV and begin to sip the broth. A few minutes later, I hurt considerably less, and I find myself losing the battle to keep my eyelids open. I jerk my head up when I feel the weight of the soup bowl lifted from my hands.

"You're okay, Babe," Ranger says gently, offering me a cracker.

I take it and work on staying away by focusing on him.

"Is Hector still awake?" I ask.

"Probably," Ranger replies with a hint of curiosity.

"I hate that he left when I was still out of sorts. I'd like him to know I'm doing better," I say quietly.

"I'll send him a text. Would you like to speak with him yourself?" Ranger offers, pulling out his phone.

I nod yes. "Wait, did I hear Hector say, fiancé?" I follow up, my interest perking me up.

Ranger smiles, confirming, "Yes, you did. Jose Lopez."

"Wow," I whisper, meeting Ranger's smile before taking another bite.

"Where are you going to sleep?" I ask him, knowing I won't be able to stay awake beyond Hector's visit.

Ranger shrugs. "In the chair. I'm not going anywhere, Babe," he says.

"I don't sleep very well," I start shyly, looking down at my hands. "Last night, well, that was the most I've slept in months. I think it's because you were there." I begin to chew my bottom lip as I nervously weigh my options. "Will you lay beside me again?" I push out in a brave rush.

Ranger places a finger under my chin and gently lifts my head so that I'm looking at him. My lips are pressed together, and I'm surprised by the sudden burst of anxiety that causes my tears to blur my vision.

"Yes, Babe, and you always have the option of asking me to move back to the chair again for any reason. I'll do so without hesitation or judgment. I'm glad you asked me, and I sleep better with you, too," Ranger says reassuringly. I quickly nod my head, yes, several times and wipe my eyes with the back of my hand.

"Come here," I whisper, and when Ranger leans forward, I wrap my arms around his chest. I smell a hint of Bulgari mingled with his scent, and I close my eyes as I breathe it in. I feel the tingle I only get from Ranger race down my spine, and the warmth of calm spreads outward to my fingertips and toes. I listen to the beating of his heart, and it's a cadence of strength, acceptance, and peace. "Thank you," I say quietly.

"Anytime, Babe," Ranger says, his voice slightly deeper than usual. I break the hug first and settle my head against the pillow. I'm grateful for the incline of the back of the bed as is helping my coughing and breathing. Ranger stands when there is a knock at the door, opening it to invite Hector and Jose in.

"_Hola, mi hermano_," I say as Hector sits in the seat Ranger vacated. (Hello, my brother.)

"_Hola, mi hermana_," Hector says, a soft look on his usually impassive expression.

"Thank you for everything, Hector," I say simply, knowing these words aren't anything more than a start. Hector gives me a small smile in return. "A fiancé?" I question, attempting to raise my eyebrow and failing.

Hector nods proudly and glances over his shoulder at Jose, who immediately walks over and pulls up a chair beside Hector. I stare at him a moment before I have my eureka moment. "The bar," I state, a smile spreading as I look between the two of them.

"_Si, Estefania_," Hector says. "It was new, and I wasn't sure of myself, but I wanted to introduce you."

"I enjoyed meeting you then, and I'm looking forward to getting to know you better now," I say, looking directly at Jose. "You are marrying one of the best."

"Yes, I am," Jose says warmly, smiling in return. "I also enjoyed that day as well, and I'm cheering for you and your recovery as well. I think we will be great friends."

"Congratulations," I say again before yawning. "I think we will be as well."

Hector and Jose stand. "Good night, _Angelita_. Thank you for letting me see you," Hector says as he and Jose take their leave.

"Do you need anything else before bed, Babe?" Ranger asks, placing a hand on my shoulder.

"Bathroom, please," I say, and Ranger leaves to get Alex. We repeat the same process as before, but it goes much quicker this time. When Ranger lays me down, it's in a position slightly left of center. The bed is full sized rather than twin to accommodate the larger frames of most Rangemen, and I think it might be larger than my futon. The sheets are certainly better.

"Get some sleep, Stephanie. I'll be checking your vitals every hour, but it's fine to ignore me, and if I do my job, you won't even notice. Bobby will take over at 6 am, but I'll be available anytime you would prefer help from a woman. Don't worry about me or if I've slept. I can take care of myself, okay," Alex says with more seriousness than I've heard from her.

"Okay," I reply, relieved I won't have to have Bobby help me in the bathroom. Alex is awkward enough. Alex departs, dimming the lights behind her and partially closing the door. I hear Ranger remove his weapons and belt, placing several items on a counter across the room.

"Are you sure, Babe?" he asks from beside me.

I open my eyes slightly to see him looking down at me with concern. "I'm sure," I say, reaching my hand out towards him and closing my eyes again. The bed sags beside me as Ranger lays down, careful not to jerk or bump my body. My knee and chest are much more comfortable with me resting on my back, the head of the bed still at an incline, but I turn my head towards Ranger so that my forehead rests on his and place my hand on his thigh.

I quickly begin to slide into sleep, but not before I hear, "Good night, Babe. I love you."

* * *

**A/N: **This must be the best fandom. I'm floored and humbled by the number of favorites and follows this story has garnered. To those who consistently review and support my story – _muchas gracias_. To those several new voices who popped up to lend their support and encouragement – I'm so happy you are reading, and I love hearing from you. To daxandpat and ThePartyParrot, it is a lot of fun for me to read your chapter by chapter reviews as you catch up on the story. This story has the highest rate of reviews per chapter of anything I've written, and I'm so thankful for your continued, vocal, support.

Misty23y is my beta extraordinaire. She is also a co-author of Tank's POV, helping to make sure his voice is unique and repulsive. Melyons is my medical advisor extraordinaire. She helped me adjust several details to help me make Steph's experience more realistic. Thanks, Babes!


	16. Chapter 16

**Disclaimer:** Anything recognizable belongs to Janet Evanovich, and the rest is mine. I'm grateful she lets us play.

**Warning:** Dark fic. Adult language, adult content, violence, smut. This is written for mature audiences only.

* * *

**Chapter 16**

**Ranger's POV**

Steph falls asleep immediately, but I'm unable to do the same. The last twenty-four hours will take me days if not years to fully process. However, there is no place I would rather be than lying beside Stephanie right now, and the brave vulnerability with which she asked me was breathtaking. I wanted desperately to kiss her and wrap her in my arms, but I know she needs to be in control, even if it takes all of my self-control.

I see Steph's growing determination to accept what Hector and myself are telling her, but she doesn't believe us in her heart. I can't beat this nagging feeling that there's something else about Farro Stephanie hasn't mentioned, or perhaps it's just bothering me that she is still accepting responsibility for his death when, from my point of view, Farro killed Farro. Part of me wants to show her the video of the reenactment and have her collaborate it. While that could be successful in helping her change her perspective, it could also backfire and cause her precarious mental state to deteriorate further. Bobby is going to set Steph up with a counselor as soon as she is physically stronger, and unless I'm given a clear signal that showing her the video is the right things to do, I decide it will be prudent to wait until I consult with that person first.

In the meantime, I know I'll feel better if I leave no stone unturned, and I use my phone to send Rodriguez an email asking him to do our most thorough level of background checks on Farro, Tank, Morelli, and Vinnie. People seldom make only one deliberately bad decision. Additionally, while Farro is dead, perhaps the raw data of his background check will be another way to show Steph the type of man he was. I also want to know what else, if anything, the last three stooges have been involved in while I've been away.

I place my hand over the smaller one resting lightly on my leg and close my eyes. Stephanie has an alluring smell, and it almost reminds me of a tropical beach. I take a deep breath and relax into the moment. Coconut. Slightly salty musk. Temptation, sex, desire. I could lose all of my senses except smell, and I would be able to find my Babe anywhere. I thought I was being selfless before I left, pushing her back to Morelli, but really, I was a huge dip-shit, as Lester enjoys reminding me. I will never be anything less than honest with Stephanie or myself anymore. I know deep down, some, not all and not even most, but some of the reason she is in this physical and mental condition now is my fault.

I wake with a jerk several hours later. Stephanie is shivering beside me, turning her head back and forth across the pillow as she mumbles unintelligible words under her breath. "Shhh, Babe, you're okay," I whisper quietly. I slowly raise my hand to sweep the long piece of hair she kept away from her lips. She freezes when my fingers make contact with her skin, and I quietly repeat the same attempt at soothing words. Steph unconsciously nuzzles her chin into my hand, and her body relaxes back into deeper sleep.

I pull the blanket up more tightly around her before turning my head to see if Alex is nearby. She catches my eye and rises from Bobby's desk to my side. "Yes, Stephanie's fever is returning," Alex says in a quiet tone. "Otherwise her vitals are steady. Like I said before, fevers aren't always a bad thing. They are a body's natural defense mechanism. I contacted Bobby, however, and he agrees with me that unless anything else changes, we can continue the current treatment plan."

Her words feel like a kick in the stomach, and my blank face slams down automatically. "Bobby told me about your company-wide meeting tomorrow at 0800. I'm going to let him relieve me at 0600 as planned so I can take an hour to freshen up, but otherwise, I'll be back down before then so he can be present. Stephanie seems to respond well to Hector, and I think it would be a good idea for him to sit with me. The calmer we can keep her, the better."

"Sounds good," I respond. Alex walks back to her post, and I anxiously drift into a restless sleep.

Like clockwork, I naturally awaken at 0500. I watch Stephanie as she sleeps for a long minute. She's pale, but there's a hint of pink in her cheeks, and her brow is covered in a slight sheen. I glance over at Alex, and she quickly joins me. "Looking good. Other than the fever, I would venture to say she is improving," she says, flashing a reassuring smile.

The vice that's taken over my insides unwinds slightly, but I won't feel better until Stephanie is out of this room and has moved out of that contaminated apartment permanently. Alex sits back in her chair again, and I take out my phone and begin going through my inbox.

The other Rangeman heads have each sent notes acknowledging the change of command and Tank's removal from the company. The speed with which news travels through the Burg is nothing short of astounding, and several clients have also written me directly. Each letter reflects the same theme; they thank me for my service, are encouraged to hear about the leadership change, and want an opportunity to sit down and talk about their service plan with Rangeman. It's a reminder that there is still a lot of hard work to be done to repair Tank's damage.

I reread the settlement proposal I will be presenting this morning as well as my talking points, making a couple of last-minute adjustments. I don't want to admit it to anyone, even myself, but I'm nervous. What I say this morning could make or break Rangeman, and I acutely feel the burden. It's a quarter to six when I finish, and I pocket my phone before slowly sliding out of bed. It's one thing for Alex to see me lying beside Steph, but I know Steph wouldn't want to show that level of physical closeness to any of the men. I'm going to talk to Bobby about making his shift twelve hours so that Alex can be on watch again tonight.

When I exit the restroom, Stephanie is awake, watching Alex and Bobby discussing turnover through the doorway. Her eyes shift from them to me as I walk back, joined by my medical team. "Good morning, Bomber. How did you sleep?" Bobby asks in a kind tone.

"Fine," Steph answers simply, and I'm surprised at how impassive her face is, and it makes me wonder what she is thinking. I used to be able to read her so well, but this last cursed year has made it harder for me to decipher her non-verbal cues. It's frustrating on many levels. Alex begins a round of vitals checks, stating numbers as she goes. Steph's temperature is 100.2F.

"Looks like your fever is thinking about breaking. Your job is to keep resting," Alex says with a slight smile. Bobby leans Steph forward with Alex's help and listens to her breathing and coughing before removing the bandages and inspecting Steph's knee.

"Well Bomber, I doubt you are feeling a lot better, but I'm pleased with your exam. I'll step out and gather breakfast while you take care of any personal business," Bobby says before striding away, closing his office door.

"Let's do this," Steph declares. Alex smiles as she disconnects the lines, and I easily scoop up Steph's slender frame and carry her to the restroom. She presses her fingers lightly into my side, and the touch sends a shiver through me. I set her carefully onto her feet with Alex close by before waiting on the other side of the door. Stephanie needs a good day, and I hope today is that day. I hear the tone but not the words of Alex's cheerful banter through the door. I fix my gaze on Bobby's closed office door as I wait.

Bobby is an expert in internal and emergency medicine, having been a field surgeon before coming to Rangeman. I think he cared for and lost one too many amputees, blast victims, and civilian casualties while we were stationed overseas, and Rangeman was his escape from that life. He didn't want to resume working in a hospital environment and embraced managing the medical and occupational health portions of Rangeman with quiet but intense energy. I frown as I continue to stare. I may have judged Bobby too harshly. It could be that his somewhat reserved professional demeanor is his way of dealing, or in some ways, not dealing with his trauma from death. Since Bobby monitors the mental health care plans of all Rangeman employees, it never occurred to me to follow-up with him about his mental health. Caregivers need care as well, and it's my job to ensure that happens.

I can see that Bobby is genuinely trying to care for Steph, and I've been impressed with the concerted effort I've seen him make to reach her. However, from time to time he seems out of his depth identifying and responding to Steph's emotional needs, and I can see how he missed some of the symptoms of her deteriorating mental health at the Farro scene. If he was the only caregiver for the present situation, I'm certain Steph would be in the hospital right now, and that would make things much worse for her. The only person who might hate hospitals as much as Steph might be me, but I don't even share the same level of dislike. One of the best things Bobby has done since my return is call in Alex as a back-up, and I'm already hoping I can convince her to join the Rangeman family full-time.

Alex opens the door and pokes her head out. "Ready!" she calls, her hair bouncing behind her as she moves back to Stephanie.

Stephanie looks tired despite the full night's sleep, but she seems more refreshed than before. "Babe?" I question, and she nods her head yes before I carry her back to the bed. She grips my shirt tightly, and I fight every urge in my body to kiss her head. Alex raises the light level partially while I lay Steph back in bed and adjust the pillows and blankets around her. Bobby steps back in and reattaches the lines while Alex gathers her things.

"I'll be back in an hour or so to check on you," Alex says to Stephanie. She opens the door but returns a few seconds later, assisting Ella with a cart. "Bon Appetit!" Alex declares before making a second departure.

"Good morning, Ella," Stephanie says with a slight smile. "Thank you for the pajamas. They are very comfy, and this meal smells great."

Ella looks pleased. "Of course, dear. Eat up and rest, and I'll get you anything else you need. You're home now," she says, patting Stephanie's shoulder and taking her leave. I see another look I don't recognize flash in Steph's eyes before she puts her blank face in place.

There are three bowls of steel-cut oatmeal topped with blueberries, walnuts, cinnamon, and a speck of brown sugar. I know the sugar is for Steph's benefit. There's yogurt, fresh fruit, coffee, apple juice, and water in carafes on the side. Steph silently reaches for a bowl and begins to eat.

"What would you like to drink, Babe?" I ask.

"Water," she says between bites. Bobby joins us.

"I'm afraid it's kind of boring in here, Steph. Could I get Hector to bring you a computer? Did you want to check your phone? I recharged it in my office overnight." Bobby says, setting down his finished bowl and picking up his coffee cup.

"Yes, to both, thank you," Steph says evenly, and while I wouldn't be able to tell how I know, I can feel she is still somewhat reserved around Bobby and Lester. The colloquialism _sticks and stones may break my bones but words can never hurt me_ is complete bullshit.

Bobby stands and brings the phone to her, setting it on the mattress. "Thanks," Steph says quietly, leaning to place her half-eaten bowl on the cart. I intercept it halfway and offer a topped off water to her. She takes a sip, I think more to patronize me than anything else, before passing it back and resting her head against her pillow. At seven, Lester, Hector, and Jose join us.

"_Hola_," Hector greets Stephanie.

"_Hola_," Stephanie says in return, and I love the way Spanish sounds rolling off of her tongue.

"I'm headed to work," Jose says, stepping forward. "I'm glad I got to meet you again, and I'm hoping for your speedy recovery."

"Me too," Steph responds with a slight smile. Hector meets her eye before leaving to escort Jose out of Rangeman.

"Alright, Beautiful. I need to let you know, I've got a great feeling about today. Now before you say it, I know you're the one with the Spidey sense, not me, but I think you can trust me. After all, my horoscope said since the full moon is going to align with Neptune, that will enhance my ability to maximize myself," Lester declares cheekily before taking a bite of an apple while looking completely self-assured.

"Horoscope?" I say, my eyebrow raised, and Steph lets out a small giggle.

"What's mine?" Steph asks, a smile growing. This conversation is ridiculous, but like when I walked in on them yesterday, these two laughing together is a sign to me that things are getting better.

"Libra, right?" Lester asks as Steph nods in reply. I have no idea if Lester follows astrology or if he looked it up before coming in here now for Steph's benefit. "Yours said you might have something hard to work on, but don't wiggle out of it. Instead, resolve to match the challenge to the best of your ability. It might not be fun, but you will win useful new friends, improve old friendships, and improve your life."

I catch the glint of the tears Steph tries to hide. "Thanks, Lester," she says eventually. I see her shoulders sag in relief that attention is deflected from her as there is a knock on the door. Lester welcomes back Hector and Alex. Alex begins a quiet conversation with Bobby while Hector sits in the chair beside Steph and places a tablet on the bed beside her.

"We are headed upstairs to a company-wide assembly, Babe. I'll be back after, and you can always use your phone to contact me. Hector and Alex will be here with you. See you soon," I state, and Steph presses her lips together. She looks so small and uncertain in the bed. I walk to the opposite side and place my hand over hers. She tilts her face towards mine, and I'm nearly swallowed up in her big, blue eyes. "Rest, Babe. It's going to be okay. I love you," I say in a volume only meant for her ears. She squeezes my hand in response, and it's as though she gave my heart a squeeze.

I leave before I can talk myself out of it, Lester behind me, and head up to seven to freshen up and change. Fucking Tank again, drawing me away from the place I should be to take care of something I shouldn't have to be taking care of. I know a _shoulda coulda woulda _attitude isn't going to help anything, and I use the anger and frustration to propel me forward.

Lester takes a seat in the living room of my apartment while I head back to shower, shave, and deliberate over what to wear. I settle on the Rangeman working uniform of black utility pants, a black t-shirt with the Rangeman logo and boots. I want to send a message that I am not above the men but rather in the trenches with everyone.

When I step out fifteen minutes later, Bobby has joined Lester. "Duty just called up to say Pete arrived. He's being escorted to your office now," Lester reports, his game face on. I nod once in response, pick up my keys from the silver dish, and take the stairs two at a time.

I meet Pete on five and shake his hand before escorting him into my office. He begins without preamble.

"Tank attempted to divert his savings into an offshore account last night. Fortunately, your instincts were correct, and I had already made arrangements with the IRS to flag his financial transactions. The funds have been seized and placed into a holding account until the conclusion of the investigation against him, and dispersals have been made," Pete begins seriously. "From what I was able to determine, Tank's remaining financial holdings are a few thousand dollars. It's unlikely that, unless he gets a job in the next month, he will be able to pay his mortgage or car payments in the next two months. He's already going to be pissed off, and this could push him into being desperate."

"Roger," I replied somberly. "We'll re-examine our security practices and make adjustments accordingly," I comment, looking pointedly at Lester who gives a small nod of acknowledgment. "Any last comments on the settlement?"

"No, everything is in order. I brought two of my associates with to help, and they are currently setting up shop in the main conference room. I'll also be available for any private conversations with a Rangeman employee," Pete responds. I nod my acknowledgment.

"What have you worked out with the Department of Labor?" I follow up.

"That's still ongoing, but what we achieve here today will go a long way towards wrapping that issue up. There's no doubt Rangeman is in violation of the Fair Labor Standards Act, under the category of wage theft. This is for all the incidents where employees were coerced into working outside of their contracted working hours. There are forty-one Rangeman employees affected, and right now my rough calculation is approximately eight million dollars in fines and back pay.

"Now, the settlement today will prevent affected employees and will deter the Department of Labor from filing a suit for liquidated damages. Since your compensation is more generous than what an employee would expect to receive if they did file a lawsuit, and since you are bringing the violations to the Department of Labor and not the other way around, you have every reason to believe this will create a swift end to your labor problems, legally speaking. The settlement includes a non-disclosure agreement, which will help prevent further damage to Rangeman's reputation. Separately, ADA, or American Disabilities Act, violations go through the Department of Justice. I'd expect OSHA to pay a visit as well. The fines I've been able to calculate are an average of sixty-five thousand dollars per incident, and that totals around 3.5 million dollars.

"Some of this is simply going to move at the pace of the government. However, when everything is all done, I expect all settlements, back pay, fines, reparations to Ms. Plum, and legal fees to come in just under twenty million dollars, which roughly equals the funds diverted to the holding account," Pete finishes summarizing.

"Wait, you calculated Tank's salary and bonuses this past year at five million dollars?" I ask with a frown.

Pete nods yes as he begins replying. "My forensics accounting team discovered that the funds that used to be budgeted to housing, living, and entertainment for Rangeman Trenton had been significantly cut, and the difference was put into an _administrative_ account that Tank drew from like a credit card. Those were the monies Tank was trying to send to an overseas account. I have an enterprising associate who contacted the IRS to get a copy of the taxes he filed this past year. Turns out, Tank didn't report those additional funds as income. I expect the IRS will soon be contacting him for an audit. Tax fraud is a felony, and he will likely be tried and sent to jail for five years and fined at least two hundred and fifty thousand dollars. We may also be able to make a case of embezzlement.

"Additionally, I doubled checked, and when Tank admitted to and I subsequently formally documented the fifty-six incidents of inciting harm against Ms. Plum, he confessed to conspiracy. Each event is a separate count or even multiple counts, for example, conspiracy to commit murder, conspiracy to kidnap, conspiracy to commit assault and battery, etc. If Ms. Plum decides to pursue a case and press charges, it's likely Tank, and since he worked with Mr. Vincent Plum in committing the crime of conspiracy, Tank and Mr. Plum would be tried and, if convicted, sent to jail for thirty years to life. Since the document he signed includes a financial settlement, I doubt there would be additional fines, but Mr. Plum could be ordered to pay a financial sum to Ms. Plum by a judge. My forensics accounting team is working on proving the money trail from Tank to Mr. Plum to collaborate with each admitted incident."

"Damn," Lester says under his breath, looking dazed. Bobby sits down heavily.

I look out the window a long minute as I process the criminal and financial cost of Tank's actions. I think about my friendship with Tank, and I don't know when the lust for power and money took over his character to the point that he would be willing to commit to doing so much harm. There's a part of me that wonders if I could have done something differently to prevent all of this.

"Good work, Pete," I say, turning back towards him, my blank face in place. "Bobby, ensure the company is assembled in the gym, and we will proceed with the formalities." I watch as Bobby departs. The gym is the only space in the building large enough to house everyone at once. Bobby returns two minutes later, and at precisely 0800, I stand in front of my assembled company, flanked by Lester, Bobby, and Pete.

"Attention to Colors!" Lester commands, and every person faces the American flag that permanently hangs at the back of the gym. Former and reserve service members stand in rigid attention, and everyone places their hands over the hearts at the first note of the _Star-Spangled Banner_. This minute and a half are among my most sacred. Honoring the flag is a tradition that reminds me of those brothers and sisters who gave their all, of the sacrifice freedom requires, and the man I want to spend my life being to honor those sacrifices. Today, I'm reminded that not all casualties are physical and that the mental warfare resulting from combat often destroys more lives than the enemy's bullets ever can.

We automatically resume an "at ease" posture when the last note plays over the sound system, and I take a cleansing breath as I turn to face the people that I hope will entrust me to lead them once more.

Bobby steps forward. "Under the Rangeman governing by-laws, we are assembled together to witness the change of command for both corporate Rangeman and Rangeman Trenton, effective immediately. Lester Santos, do you relinquish command of Rangeman?" Bobby states authoritatively.

Lester steps forward and faces the company with his shoulders back, and hands curled at his sides. "I relinquish command," he booms clearly.

"Ranger Manoso, do you resume command of Rangeman?" Bobby questions with the same authority.

I step forward and scan the audience assembled before me. "I assume command," I bark with unwavering resolve. This formal exchange of words is one of the military's oldest traditions, and while we have modified the ceremony for civilian purposes, it has worked to successfully guide the company whenever I departed and returned for a mission. I knew we would fail if there were any question of who reported to whom. I hope the next time I relinquish command, it is for my retirement.

I'm about to begin my remarks when applause begins to rise from the men assembled in front of me followed by a general cheering and seeming exhalation of relief. This has never happened before, and I'm momentarily stunned by the show of support. The men quiet of their own accord, and I give them a small smile.

"To each of you, I extend my sincerest measures of gratitude and apology. I will not hide behind the wrongdoings of or protect Tank at your expense. Effective immediately, all Rangeman instructions and policies revert to editions approved before June 1st, 2018. This includes all housing, food, storage, use, and display of personal effects, physical training, physical fitness standards, uniform standards, and workplace practices, among others," I begin, pausing as another round of applause erupts.

"This building was once more than your place of employ. It was home to many of you, and a place of comradery and rest. I want it to be that way again. More than that, however, I know each of you has legitimate personal and legal grievances against Rangeman, and I'm unable to tell you how humbled I am that you waited until my return to consider taking any legal action against this company. I have spent the past four days using every resource at my disposal to unearth any wrongdoings. Mr. Pete Thompson, the Rangeman attorney, has worked closely with me throughout this process," I continue, careful to inject contrition into my commanding tone.

"I'm not going to cover up or shy away from the wrongs committed against you. Instead, I seek to begin to make things right with a settlement. As of right now, no outside entities are investigating the various violations that have occurred over the past year. I am not doing this because I have to. I am coming forward preemptively to pay any fines not only because it is the honorable things to do, but because I need to regain your trust in this company again. I seek to send a clear message that I do not condone those actions.

"I am offering each of you one hundred and fifty thousand dollars as reparations. I am not attempting to buy your loyalty, but I do hope that the sum along with an immediate change in corporate atmosphere will convince you to give Rangeman another chance to earn your trust as a superior security employer. If it isn't, please feel free to accept the settlement, and I will personally write a letter of recommendation as you seek employment elsewhere.

"Mr. Thompson and his associates are prepared to receive each of you in Conference Room One. Read the settlement and carefully consider your options. He and his team are also prepared to document any specific grievances you may have and answer all of your questions," I explain, pausing to let my words sink in.

"General Patton once said, 'Success is how high you bounce when you hit bottom.'" I say emphatically. "I believe that Rangeman is only as good as the people who form it, and from the beginning, I wanted this to be a place that was the industry leader in security services because we were made of the very best people. You are those people. This is the bottom. I hope you choose to stay and bounce back with me," I say with as much sincerity as I can. "Either way, thank you for your service to this company and to me." I let out a short breath before glancing at Pete. He steps forward and begins explaining the process as I depart with Bobby, leaving my fate in their hands.

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**A/N: **To my Christian/Catholic readers, Happy Easter! I'm posting this chapter early as I expect the weekend's festivities to consume my time. I've written through chapter 18 and refined my outline to completion. I'm expecting this journey to end two to three chapters plus an epilogue. Can you believe we are so close to the end? Me neither! Thank you to everyone for your amazing words of reflection and encouragement. I was so busy I had to take a three week break from serious writing, and those comments kept me in the writing frame of mind regardless. Your words are valued. As an Easter treat for you and me, let's top 500 reviews for another early chapter. 😊

Misty23y is my beta. Thank you for everything you've done, from brainstorming to grammar, to help me through this writing process and be so encouraging along the way. Melyons kindly corrected my uneducated medical knowledge, and I'm grateful she made this story stronger.


	17. Chapter 17

**Disclaimer:** Anything recognizable belongs to Janet Evanovich, and the rest is mine. I'm grateful she lets us play.

**Warning:** Dark fic. Adult language, adult content, violence, smut. This is written for mature audiences only.

* * *

**Chapter 17**

**Stephanie's POV**

I close my eyes as Ranger, Lester, and Bobby depart. The gratitude I feel at their support is as unexpected as it is welcome, but it is a bit much to have so many people focused on me at once. This is especially true in an environment and situation I'm not especially fond of, but I know this is the best place for me right now. More than anything else, I feel worn down. I'm tired, but not only physically, mentally and emotionally as well. It's like I am a bungee cord that has been stretched to capacity, and I either put slack into the line or snap. My newfound support system is helping me to relieve some of the tension, and deep down, I know they are saving me in the process.

Alex begins doing her vitals check, and I open my eyes from my light dozing as she does. "Hello, Steph. I didn't mean to wake you. How you are feeling?" she says.

"Tired, stiff, and I still have a dull headache, but my chest feels lighter," I say with a shrug.

"That's to be expected. A lot is being thrown at your body right now, and I think you're doing great in the circumstances. Keep resting, and eat when you can," Alex says with a gentle smile before dimming the lights again and walking back to Bobby's office.

I know Alex meant to be reassuring, but her words are terrifying. I was focused on getting through until Saturday, and then I was supposed to be released to daily check-ups. I suddenly realize that even when I'm set free from this room, I just don't have the energy to live by myself in my apartment right now and still manage to take care of and feed myself. I'm certainly not going skip-tracing any time soon. I have enough money saved where I don't need to work for a while, but working is what kept my mental demons at bay. Well, sort of; I can see know that I've really been locked in battle with them the past year, and the demons were winning. What am I going to do with myself with nothing but time to think? I set my lips in a thin line as I stare at the corner of the ceiling.

"_Estefania_," Hector says quietly. I shift my head to look at him. "Would you like to watch the meeting? I set up cameras to live stream it across all the Rangeman branches."

I nod my head yes and pat the bed beside me. I think something that surprised me the most about the last twenty-four hours is that something deep inside me has gone from wanting no one to touch me to finding reassurance in it from a few trusted people. It's as though that by allowing these few trusted people to help me, the reward is that I can draw strength, courage, and rest from the connection, and it gives me unexpected peace.

Hector sits beside me with the tablet opened to a video screen, and I rest my head on his shoulder. It's a familial moment, and I take a breath to savor the sibling-like love we have for one another pass between us. _Love_, I repeat to myself. When I chose to push my panic button in defense of myself, I was effectively choosing to love myself more than the pain. In doing so, I am beginning to experience the exchange of love again starting from the purest place inside my heart. I'm living, and my vision is blurred by unshed tears.

I twist at my torso and awkwardly place my arm around Hector's chest. He drops the tablet onto his lap and returns the embrace. "_Angelita?"_ he murmurs.

"_Te amo_," I say quietly.

Hector's arms tighten slightly around my body. "_Te amo, Angelita_," he says in response. I let out a long sigh of satisfaction as the words warm me through and through, pulling away to rest against the back of the bed once again, Hector's shoulder as my pillow.

He props the tablet up and angles it so I can see. The ceremony is riveting. I have minimal military experience outside of Rangeman, patriotic parades, and baseball games, but the bearing everyone has leaves me a little breathless with pride. As Ranger begins to speak, I feel the spark of hope I felt at his return be fanned into a bonfire. His commanding sincerity inspires me to follow him, and I believe that he will make things right. Even if I never act as a bounty hunter again, I will gladly use any talent I have to support Ranger just as he selflessly supports me.

I feel my phone buzz beside me, and I pick it up to see a text from Ranger: _Yo._

I fight the urge to roll my eyes and rapidly punch out: _Great speech. Doing fine. Keep being Batman. _I hit send and nervously wait for his response.

_I'm only a man._

My eyes widen at the unexpected response. Ranger is being candid with me, and it reminds me that I'm not the only person who has changed this past year.

I reply: _A damn fine man, in every way._

My phone buzzes. _Babe. _I'm about to blacken the screen when a second message appears. _I love you._

I close the messages app as I swallow against the swell of happiness. Ranger loves me. He has said it several times, but for some reason, seeing it in black and white makes the feeling more real. Things are going to be better. Glancing at the notification bubble, I see that there are three voice mail messages. The first is from Hector, left after I pushed my panic button. The second is from my mom, wondering if I am coming to dinner this week. Mom hasn't learned how to use a cell phone yet, and I'm certainly not going to be the one to teach her, but she does have an email account. I send a quick message letting her know that I wouldn't be able to make it tonight but planned on coming by soon.

I'll never be close to my mother, and I don't think she always did a very good job of raising me. However, that after I firmly put a line in the sand about her conduct towards me and meddling in my life, she has done nothing but respect those boundaries has caused my esteem towards her to rise. It's kept me coming back this past year, and I'm a little sad to miss this week's pot roast.

The third voice mail is from an unknown caller, left sometime around two am. I push play and hold the phone up to my ear.

"Little Girl, I see you," the voice begins with an eerie calm. "I know where you are, laid up, pretending to be hurt in Bobby's exam room. More importantly, I know who you are. You're a manipulative, conniving bitch who rolled into our lives and played the poor, pitiful me card to perfection. You batted your big, blue eyes at everyone, making them fall for your inept but persistent routine. You wrapped everyone around your finger, getting them to spend countless hours and dollars to accomplish your bidding. You're good, Little Girl, but you don't fool me," he says, and my mind is scrambling to overcome the fear rising up despite my pushing against it.

"Ranger rolls back into town, and even after a year, he spends the entire day on you. How are you? What happened to you? How can we help you? Why didn't we do more to help you?" the voice continues, and in a moment that takes my breath away, I realize it's Tank. The tone is filled with such coldness and drenched with layers of hostility and fury that I couldn't recognize it at first.

"Did you know we made a video reenacting the crime scene between Farro and you? I kept a copy," he continues with a lasciviousness that makes my stomach clench. "It turns me on, imagining that sloppy bastard on top of you. Did he call you by my nickname? Did he, when he grabbed your breasts and ground his pink prick against you? Is that when he called you Little Girl, or did he breathe it into your ear when he sloppily kissed your face?" I feel my grounding in my surroundings fade away as he speaks, and I'm frozen in the memories he crudely narrates.

"I understand men like Farro. It's why I'm so good at my job. I know that everyone is going to try to convince you that you are the victim, but I've watched you this past year, and I know that _you_ know the truth. You know you're a whore. You lure men with your tits, you shake your ass to get them to do what you want, and then maybe you fuck them, and maybe you don't," Tank spews furiously.

"But you don't respect men. You think you can use sex to manipulate us with no consequences. Dress however you want, act however you want, and then walk away. That's not it works, and Farro called you on it. _I'm_ calling you on it. And I think you've called yourself on it, fucking your way through half of Trenton this past year.

"You know what they are saying about you, right? You've developed a reputation as quite the little submissive. Do you enjoy being beaten? Does hearing me tell you about how other men talk about you taking it up the ass turn you on? Does being treated like you deserve, like the bitch you are, make you cum?" Tank questions me and my motives with such certain contempt, and I see the nights I'd rather forget come to the forefront of my mind.

"You know it doesn't matter, right? You can't turn back time. You killed Farro, all because, Little Girl, you decided not to let a man have what you dangled in front of him. How good a fuck can you really be to be worth this much trouble?" It's less how Tank is speaking than what he is saying, and he is articulating my greatest fears and insecurities.

"I see you, and I know who you are. You are no warrior. You are a Little Girl who got burned playing with the big boys. I don't care what you do with the rest of your miserable, pathetic life, but it's time you stayed the fuck out of mine. Leave Rangeman, leave Trenton. If you don't, you'll be the one who kills everyone you love, one random accident at a time. Give me back my life, and I'll keep out of yours," Tank demands before ending the call.

I slowly lower the phone to the mattress beside me but don't loosen my grip around it. I feel surreal, as though I'm somehow leaving my body again, like my dream. My breath is coming in short rapid bursts as I slowly turn my head towards Hector. He's standing beside the bed with one knee on the edge of the mattress and leaning towards me. With detached interest, I see his lips moving, but I don't hear the words over the ringing that immediately began sounding in my ears at the end of Tank's message.

"I'm going to throw up," I mumble, clutching my arms around my midsection and looking down. A blue bag is thrust in front of me, and I grip it with two hands, my body giving way to the stress until nothing is left. I don't want this. I want to think. I want to process this and move forward. I just have to make sense of everything.

I want to agree with Ranger, Hector, Lester, and Bobby, but I also agree with Tank. But the two worldviews are nearly magnetic in their opposition to the other, and I feel like I'm being pulled in two directions.

The bag is removed from my hands, and I pull my good knee up to my chest, resting my chin on it as I wrap my arms over my ears and lace my fingers behind my head.

What's right? What's wrong? Why don't I know anymore? I want to be strong. I want to push aside what Tank said, but I can't. I can't because I don't know which direction my moral compass faces. But I need to. I want to live.

I feel the tingle that shoots through my spine before there is a dip in the mattress beside me. Two hands are placed over mine and my heart races. What will happen if Ranger listens to Tank's message? Will Ranger agree with Tank? Will he finally see what I've been afraid he would this entire week? The bitch who causes more trouble than she's worth? Will he maintain his party line, that I'm imperfect but good? Will Ranger go after Tank, and if he does, is Tank's blood on my hands? With that, I know two things.

1\. I will not find the answers hiding.

2\. No matter what it costs me, no one else will die because of me.

I lift my eyes to Ranger's, and he gives me a small nod of encouragement. My breath is coming in short, rapid bursts as I find my bravery to face him. Truth. I need the truth. I sit up straight but keep my hands over my ears. I hate this ringing, and the overlap of any external sounds makes it worse and last longer. Ranger places a hand on my shoulder and the other over my heart. With exaggerated movements, he shows me that he is breathing in and out slowly. I nod, yes, slightly, my eyes locked on his, and mimic his actions. I don't feel pressured, and I let this connection be my shelter in the storm. I can't find the truth if I'm too upset to focus.

Ranger glances up behind me, and I use the slight break in our connection to massage my ears and look around the room. Hector is standing in the corner of the room, my cell phone in his hand. His expression is blank, but his eyes are murderous. Lester is standing next to Hector with his hand on his shoulder. I turn to my other side, and Bobby and Alex are standing, seemingly ready to do something, but I don't know what.

I lower my hands and shake my head a couple of times to clear the cobwebs. "Babe?" I hear though it sounds as though the word is far away. Ranger leans back slightly and resting one hand on my foot and the other at his side. I shift my eyes to Ranger before looking back at Hector.

"Did you listen?" I ask, knowing the answer.

"_Si,_" Hector replies, taking a step towards me.

"Is it true? Is there a video?" I question firmly.

"No lo sé," Hector says, shrugging stiffly. (I don't know.)

"Did anyone else listen?" I press with the same intensity.

"No," Hector states flatly.

"Play it, on speaker," I order.

"_Estefania,_" Hector warns.

"Do it!" I bark, hating the hint of hysteria I hear.

"No," Hector responds, not remotely intimidated by me.

"Lester, Bobby, and I will listen in the next room, and then we may be able to answer your questions," Ranger bargains, giving my foot a squeeze.

"Agreed," I state, pressing my lips into a thin line before holding out my thumb to unlock the home screen. I'm not surprised Hector doesn't relinquish his grip on the phone as I do so. When he confirms the voicemail app is opened, he points to the message and gives the phone to Ranger.

Ranger quickly departs with Bobby and Lester, and Hector resumes a post beside me.

"Stephanie," Alex says gently. "I know you're upset, and having someone tell you to calm down when you're upset always makes me angrier, but," she says pointedly, her voice trailing off. "But the ICU is where you're headed if you don't. I don't know you well, but I think I've gotten to know you enough to know that's not someplace you want to be."

She's right. I take a moment to become more aware of my body. My muscles are tight, and my limbs are rigid. I cough deeply against the strain my forced breaths are giving my already debilitated lungs, doubling over as I do. Alex rubs my back, and I concentrate on her touch. "I'm going to increase the oxygen flow, and you can use this inhaler. Lean back against the pillow for me. Would you like a sip of water to clear your mouth?" Alex says. I nod yes and gratefully accept the glass she passes to me. When I pass it back, she hands me a washcloth, and I use it to clean my face.

I jump, dropping the damp square when I hear a crash and muffled voices coming from the next room. Hector is immediately sitting on the bed beside me and takes my hands.

"_Mi Angelita_, they aren't mad at you," he says seriously. "They're mad at Tank. I'm mad at Tank, but I'm not at all mad at you. _Te amo_, _Estefania_. Don't forget that."

I rest my head against the pillow and force my shoulders to drop, releasing my right hand from Hector's grip as I do. "Why shouldn't anyone be mad at me?" I say resignedly. "You don't know how many nights I've lain awake thinking exactly what Tank said. I, I can't tell you how many times I've thought that if I had just let Farro fuck me, then maybe he would have lived. It's not like I don't already know how to deal with that pain. I hurt, but I would hurt anyway, and his wife and daughter would still have him in his life. He'd still be alive to do better with his life. The way I've lived, I feel like, I feel like maybe Tank has managed to strip away the bullshit and see the ugly truth after all." I stop and take a shaky breath to steady my emotions again.

"Has someone hurt you before, _Angelita_?" Hector asks, sitting fully beside me and facing me. I nod my affirmation, struggling to say the word. "Will you tell me?" he presses with a quiet voice.

"Do you promise not to hurt anyone?" I ask. "Please. I can't have anyone else be hurt because of me. I can't." My eyes swim with tears.

"You have my word," Hector says seriously. I take his hand again, and Hector scoots closer so that we are face to face.

"Morelli, twice. Six in his garage and the Tasty-Pastry incident, well," I say in a near whisper, looking at Hector for understanding, acceptance, something. Hector gives me a look of encouragement, and I continue, hating the power these memories still have over me. "Date rape in college. Spiked drink," I continue quietly. "The worst was this last year," I say hesitantly, glancing at Hector again. "Do you remember when I asked you to drive me to the women's clinic a few months ago?" Hector's eyes widen. "I wasn't having bad cramps as I told you. One of my dates took it too far the night before. I, Tank is wrong, I don't like 'taking it up the ass,' as he put it. I didn't realize that was part of what people are saying about me," I trail off, horrified by the idea.

"The thing is, so much of what Tank said, well, I get it. I don't want to agree. I'm guessing you're going to tell me some variation of it's all bullshit. Don't. Save us both the argument," I say firmly.

Hector leans forward and gently places his hands around my face. "_Angelita_, listen to me. I have never bullshitted you. Ever. I've never given you any reason to doubt me, right?" Hector says passionately, his eyes boring into mine. "I know you're confused, and you have every reason to be. I know some of how you feel, and it took someone good in my life to help me figure out my rights and wrongs again. Tank is angry because he realized how much he lost yesterday, and he wants to hurt you. Don't let him," Hector says. I sense Ranger is nearby, but I keep my attention completely on Hector. "Lean on us. Trust us. Let us guide you until you can see the world more clearly again."

"I didn't sleep around because I wanted something from anyone, well, unless it was to apprehend an FTA. I did it because I hate how I feel," I whisper, a tear falling down my cheek.

"How do you feel?" Hector says, his English barely discernable.

"As though I'm responsible for so much evil. Impure. Unlovable. Like Tank said, not worth all this trouble," I reply with a trembling voice.

"Then choose now to listen to my voice instead of Tank's," Hector states. "I know you, _Angelita_. Right now, I might know you better than you know yourself. None of this crap, none of it, is your fault. Every person you've killed has been in self-defense, and if it comes down to someone living and someone dying, I'll pick you every time. You could walk through Trenton wearing nothing but a thong and pasties while carrying a sign that says 'Fuck Me,' and if you turn to your partner at any point as and say, 'Stop,' they stop, or it becomes an assault. No one has an ownership or a right over anyone else.

"What you choose to do in the bedroom is your choice. Lots of people have different preferences, and it's fine with a consenting, respectful partner. You aren't impure if you like something kinky, and you certainly aren't impure if someone violated your consent. But, _Angelita_, don't use your sexuality to punish yourself. You are a wonderful, good person, and you taught me to love again. Let me return that lesson to you. Love yourself, and you will begin to see things more clearly again. Helping a friend when they are in need isn't trouble, it's an honor. You will always be worth it," Hector finishes, his eyes pleading with me to accept what he is saying.

"Really?" I question, desperately wanting this to be the truth I cling to.

"Always," Hector pushes out.

"Really, Babe. No price," Ranger says, and he slides into my line of sight as Hector leans back, taking my hand once again.

"Yes, Beautiful, you are worth it," Lester affirms, stepping to the end of the bed.

"That's the truth, Bomber," Bobby says from my opposite side.

I take a slow look around the room as I consider their words. I have a choice I can make right now. Do I believe Tank and Farro, or do I believe the group of people who are surrounding me right now with their support and affirmation? I don't have to get it, and I don't need all the answers to make this choice. That's the point of trusting and leaning on another person. "Okay," I say with quiet determination despite the tears trailing their silent tracks.

"Babe, I know you have questions and that you want to talk about that message, but it can wait," Ranger says, placing a hand on my shoulder.

"Alright," I respond, stifling a yawn that turns into a cough. "Thank you," I say, looking at each person in turn, squeezing Hector's hand. He returns the unspoken gesture, before standing and leading Lester into Bobby's office, closing the door behind them.

"Stephanie, restroom?" Alex questions. I nod, and in now practiced movements, Alex and Ranger have me situated again in no time. Bobby steps in to do the 10 am vitals as Alex departs.

"Bomber, I need you to get some rest now. Can you do that for me?" Bobby says, dimming the lights. I nod my head, yes, knowing I wouldn't be able to stay awake much longer if I wanted to. I hear him open and close the door to his office.

"Come closer," I whisper, my throat raw from throwing up, to Ranger, and when he sits on the bed beside me, I capture him around his middle and pull him to me. Ranger props himself on his elbows, leaning over my body but not allowing the weight to rest on me, and places his head in the crook of my neck.

"Tell me again," I say softly into his ear.

"There's no price for what we do for each other, Babe. I love you," he replies into my neck, and his breath tickles my skin.

"Did you spend all of Monday on me, as Tank said? Was I that important to you even before you knew things had changed for me? That I've change?" I ask, not sure if he's going to respond.

"Yes, Babe. You were my motivation to keep going during my mission, and you are the best part of coming home," Ranger murmurs, his lips millimeters from my skin.

"Not right now, but since you have a better idea of how much I've changed since you left and you know more about my past, do you still find me attractive? I mean, do you still want me that way?" I ask hesitantly, feeling intensely insecure.

Ranger pulls himself up so that his deep brown eyes can pierce through me. "I will never want to be with another person as long as I live. You drive me crazy, in all the best ways. Yes, _Querida_, I want you," Ranger says huskily.

I return his gaze and tilt my head slightly to the side. "Then why don't you kiss me anymore? I see you want to, and then you stop. I know I've put up a lot of physical barriers, but I haven't been the same with you as everyone else. I honestly don't know how I feel half the time, so I get your hesitancy some, but I'm confused," I confess, my eyebrows furrowed together. "I guess I need to know if it's because you agree with Tank or not," I finish, my voice cracking.

Ranger's eyes widen slightly. "I couldn't disagree with Tank more. I haven't kissed you as much because I respect you, and I know you're in the middle of some difficult times. I don't want you to interpret anything I do as being excessively forward or as pressuring you. I will wait as long as it takes for you to be ready to take the next step with me. We can go through the message later, and I'll tell you all the ways it's wrong, but for right now, try to believe me. I love you, Babe," Ranger responds, his accented voice overlaid with absolute sincerity.

"I'm choosing to," I say, leaning up to gently kiss his cheek. His skin is still smooth from his morning shave, and I can smell the slight fragrance of his shaving cream. The simple contact, an action that many would consider chaste, feels like coming home.

"Babe," Ranger sighs as I rest back onto the pillow, stifling a yawn. Ranger brushes the piece of hair from my face and tucks it behind my ear tenderly.

"I have one more question," I say, chewing on my bottom lip and looking down at my hands before coughing. I sit up as I do, and Ranger rubs my back. I remain leaning forward as I catch my breath. "Do you think Tank means it? Is my family or Rangeman in danger? Who else might Tank be targeting? I feel so helpless laying here, and I don't even have my weapons. I'm not sure I could survive it if something happened to someone because of Tank's anger towards me, and maybe that's the point," I say mournfully, my eyes flooding with tears at the idea of another death.

Ranger turns his body so that I can lean against his chest, and I rest into the security of his muscular arms. "Lester is already working on answering or finding solutions to your questions. I wish I could tell you that everything will be fine, but I'm wise enough not to make promises I can't keep. What I can tell you is that I'll use every resource at my disposal to protect you, Rangeman, and your family and friends from Tank's wrath. No matter what happens, remember, it's not your fault, Babe," Ranger says, pausing to kiss the top of my head, and I sigh further against him.

"I know you feel like you aren't doing anything, but by doing your job of resting, healing, both physically and emotionally, and rebuilding your relationships with people, you are doing a lot more than you realize. You matter a great deal to the people in this building, and when you're doing better, they do better. Make healing your job, and I will work diligently on mine, keeping you in the loop along the way. I'm not keeping secrets or withholding information as a power play, and my only reason for doing so sometimes is to wait until you've rested a little more, such as going over any more questions from that message. Can you be alright with that, Babe?" Ranger says assuredly, and I feel a glimpse of the same inspiration I felt from his speech a couple of hours ago. If Ranger says he's got me, he's got me.

"Okay, I can live with that," I replied levelly. "I have one more last question."

"Babe," Ranger says, and I'm not sure if he's suppressing a laugh or trying not to roll his eyes. Maybe both.

I pull back slightly to look up at him. "Will you stay with me until I fall asleep?" I ask with quiet hope.

Ranger gives me a small smile that makes his eyes crinkle. "Of course, Babe. Hector or I will be here whenever you wake up. Hector can contact me if you need me for anything," he says before kissing my forehead and rolling over to lay beside me.

I rest my head on his shoulder and lace my fingers in between his rough ones, and in his arms, peace overtakes fear.

* * *

**A/N: **It's been a week since my last review, and I simply couldn't wait any longer to share this chapter with you. You guys really showed me the love this past weekend (so close to 500 – a very loft goal – WOW!), and I'm again so grateful for this amazing community of supportive readers and writers.

Dreamg714 asked me to clarify Steph's haircut in this story. Her hair is the same color and texture but is shorn on the right side with the back in a pixie cut and the left side piece is long enough to be swept behind her ear. I made a Pinterest account to share some inspiration photos.

Go to: pinterest dot com slash HermioneIncarnate and open the Warrior Stephanie Plum Haircut board. It's the only one, but I'll create more boards as I think of things or if you guys request another specific visual.

Another clarification: I have written through Chapter 19, and I expect to write through chapter 23 (Or so. Sometimes I think an idea will be short, and it turns into a chapter and vice versa.) before the epilogue.

Misty23y is my oh so patient beta. My outlines are works in progress, and she never tires of helping to redirect me. Melyons has proven to be way better than WebMD at correcting the medical portions of this story. Thanks, Babes!


	18. Chapter 18

**Disclaimer:** Anything recognizable belongs to Janet Evanovich, and the rest is mine. I'm grateful she lets us play.

**Warning:** Dark fic. Adult language, adult content, violence, smut. This is written for mature audiences only.

* * *

**Chapter 18**

**Ranger's POV**

Bobby slips back into the room to check on Steph. "Is she asleep?" he asks in a low tone. I slip my hand from hers, and it drops limply against the blanket.

"I think so. Steph drifted off quickly," I respond, sliding out of bed without disturbing Steph.

"When she wasn't paying attention, I injected an anti-nausea medication as well as a mild sedative into her line. Stephanie needs rest, and her body can't handle much more," Bobby confesses before we open the door to her office.

Lester stops his pacing when I enter and runs his fingers through his hair while worriedly asking, "How is she?"

"Stephanie is scared and worried, but she's trying to continue to trust us," I say. "She's sleeping now."

Lester drops his hands to his side at my answer and sits down in a chair beside Hector, crossing his ankle over the opposing knee. "How many questions did she ask?" he asks with a ghost of a smile.

"Technically eight," I answer, raising an eyebrow at Hector's smug expression.

"Lester thought she'd only ask three questions. I knew better," Hector explains in Spanish, and while I don't let my blank face waver, I smile inside at the banter. While in the field, the guys would often resort to humor as a way of dispelling tension. This banter, more than anything, tells me they are bonding and working together through the stress of this situation.

"I have a lot more questions than eight, beginning with do we have eyeballs on Tank now?" I state firmly, and I watch as all three men sit up straighter.

"If Tank's vehicle tracker is to be believed, he's at home. Once we make a plan, I'm going to head out to verify that information. Tank would recognize patrol in a second if we sent them by, and it could place those guys in unnecessary danger," Lester reports.

"We haven't returned Tank's belongings to him yet," Hector muses. "I'm going to go through everything to make sure there isn't anything useful there as well as plant a few bugs and tracking devices. I have some newer ones the government asked us to test that he is unlikely to detect."

"We need constant surveillance at Steph's parent's home, and increased patrols around the Burg in general, especially around places Steph used to frequent, such as Pino's, the Tasty Pastry, Mary Lou's home, Valerie's home, etcetera. Let's take Tank's threat at face value and assume he intends to carry through with it," I said somberly. "We also need to take a hard look at our standard operating procedures. Tank has the advantage here if we stick to that playbook. We need to change up the way we do business to not be too predictable."

Bobby speaks up first. "I'll start doing that. I can easily review those materials while monitoring Bomber, put together a list of suggestions, and start doing a re-write of the documents," he says.

"I'm going to put the word out on the streets that Tank is persona non grata, and ask people to report back to me if he goes poking around," Hector chimes in. "I'm also going to have surveillance cameras installed in public areas near places we are concerned Tank could target. It could give us an advanced warning of his movements."

"I'm going to initiate a thorough security sweep of this building and have the overall force protection level increased for the time being. Unfortunately, Tank knows the facilities as well as we do, and he knows our strengths as well as our weaknesses," Lester says grimly.

"I'll first check in with Pete," I add. "It's doubtful that every employee sides with us over Tank. I'm sure there are others who don't understand the role Stephanie plays in the success of this company and/or simply preferred Tank's utilitarian style of leadership. I'm also going to have Roberts from the Boston office run background checks on every Trenton employee, beginning with any new hires from this past year. I'm also going to need to step out at some point here to go over to TPD to meet with the Chief. We need to shore up our support, especially if Tank tries to pull anything against us. I'm also going to reach out to Senator Juniak. He can be an ally for us as we open our doors to federal investigations. Having the Chief and Senator on our team is important if we are going to be successful both mitigating Tank and moving forward as a company."

I look around the room as I see thoughtful nods of agreement.

I cross my arms over my chest. "Hector, play the message again," I order. Hector inputs a digital code to unlock Steph's phone and hits play again. I close my eyes as I listen, using every bit of emotional stamina I possess to tamp down my rage and focus on the details. Try as I might, however, the only thing I can think is _how could he_. This total betrayal by a person I once considered to be a brother is tearing me apart. I never knew this side to the man, and I find myself questioning my judgment.

_Ah_, that's the point. Tank wants Steph scared, me reacting and questioning my next move, and Lester and Bobby too angry think straight. He is strategically placing himself in a position of power over us. But what is he trying to achieve?

"Again," I state, having missed most of the message to my mental musings.

Based on the time Tank left this message, I'm going to deduct he left it in anger after he discovered his financial assets were frozen. I'm trying to focus, but I find my mind drifting back to when we were teenagers in Miami. He quickly became my best friend in High School, and we were inseparable. One thing we often did was walk Miami Beach checking out the girls. Tank would go on and on about his big dreams. He'd say that one day he was going to come back here with money from his successful business dealings, and then any of these girls would be his. I listened quietly, but I mostly dismissed his comments as the grandiose musings of a horny teenager who grew up poor.

Tank's parents were from Louisiana. When he was in junior high, he found his mother unconscious from a heroin overdose. Tank's father was strung out on the couch of their double-wide trailer and refused to help Tank render aid, saying she was just playing 'possum. Tank called 911, but by the time the ambulance arrived, it was too late. Tank's father was arrested and later died in jail, and Tank was sent to live with his mom's sister's family in Miami. While the living conditions were better, his new family were strapped for cash, and Tank constantly felt he was a burden.

Abuela Rosa preferred we hang out at her home, and she always had a snack or meal after school for us. She often listened to our teenaged banter and boasting quietly. One afternoon near my graduation from high school, she asked me to join her for lemonade on the porch.

"Carlos," she said, "be careful of wants. They quickly become needs, and those needs take over your life, robbing you of happiness. You are about to leave my home and make your way as a man. You are a very capable young man with many abilities. I am proud of you. Remember that it's the choices you make, more than your abilities, that determine your character. One of those choices is your needs versus wants. I am not a wealthy woman, but I have all of my needs met, and I am satisfied with my life. There are many wealthy people in Miami, but I often wonder, how many of them are as happy as I? Dream big and go change the world, Carlos, but do it with integrity. I love you."

It was the first time I could remember anyone ever saying they were proud of me. Abuela's words became a code to me. I have become a wealthy man, but I could give my possessions and investments away easily, as I nearly did to save Rangeman, and it wouldn't change my overall satisfaction with my life. I'm most upset at the way Tank treated people and is continuing to treat people, especially during my absence this past year rather than his misuse of Rangeman financial assets.

Abuela Rosa saw Tank's proclivity to greed all those years ago, and she wisely gave me the tools I would need to face this day should it ever come. Tank believes he needs money, and when I took it away, he became desperate. As to why this has happened, I can only speculate that Tank is a tiger who never changed his stripes. He was always determined to do better than his parents, and in that regard, he has. Tank abhors drug use to the point of refusing pain medication at every turn, even with serious injuries. However, he built his life on the ethos that money equals success, and the problem with that is that there will never be enough money to meet that goal. I'm still inclined to believe that he's a good man deep down, but with his core values so misaligned, he may justify any manner of action to meet his need for financial security. Unfortunately, he sees Steph as his means to regaining his lost funds.

"Again," I bark, and Hector replays the message while Lester suppresses a groan.

This time I focus on Tank's personal attack on Stephanie. It's easy to understand Steph's reaction to hearing this, and she could have reacted worse. He's deliberately breaking her mental health down and attempting to undermine the support system she has in place with Hector, Lester, Bobby, and myself.

That's it. Tank is appealing to Stephanie's sense of duty to protect her family and friends, yes, but it's more than that. Tank is attempting to get Stephanie to flee Rangeman so that she is more vulnerable.

So, Tank wants money, and he sees Stephanie as his means of getting it. If he can't scare Stephanie into giving him the money to protect her family, he wants to isolate her. If she were to be separated, I'm guessing Tank would kidnap her as a way of forcing me to pay a ransom.

"Again," I say more quietly.

Tank loves Rangeman. His actions this past year were wrong, but they came from a place of good intentions. In one day, he lost Rangeman and his financial security, and with it, his need for power and wealth suddenly feels unmet. The road to hell is paved with good intentions indeed. Tank probably believes that I'll destroy Rangeman, and when I do, he'll be invited back with open arms as the company's savior.

Tank isn't going to target Rangeman. He's going to target me, and based on his admissions in this voicemail, he knows that Stephanie is one of my needs. In his mind, breaking her is tit for tat for the loss of his needs. He isn't going to go quietly, and this will only end with Tank behind bars or dead.

He also knows a lot more about Stephanie's activities this past year than any of us knew. I think back to Steph's panic attack at having her weapons secured. Is there more going on here?

"I want a guard at the stairwell to this floor. It's secured to all non-authorized personnel. Anyone needing medical care will need to go to the senior duty member on the watch floor, and duty will contact Bobby. Bobby, can you use your field kit to treat patients the next two days in an alternative space?" I question.

"Yes, no problem," Bobby responds.

"Tank is targeting Stephanie to get to us. She cannot leave this building until we have him neutralized. Keep a level head. Use reason and don't respond emotionally. This is a deliberate play to either get his money back, get revenge against us by hurting someone we love, or both. Hector, you stay here with Steph. Lester, you go through Tank's property. I'm going to meet with Pete, spend an hour in my office, and then Lester, you are going to join me to visit the Chief, Vinnie, and do quick surveillance of Tank's property. Once Stephanie wakes up, I'm going to attempt to convince her to press charges against Tank. Hector, I gave Rodriquez several background checks. Follow-up with him and begin reviewing the search reports," I order. I know Hector will use a few less than legal means of his own to augment Rodriquez's efforts. "This is in addition to the tasks assigned earlier in this conversation. Understood?" I state, and everyone barks their affirmation in reply.

I walk back to Steph silently and kiss her forehead before slipping from the room, Lester on my heels. We part ways on five, and I settle into my desk to begin making the arrangements. I look up as Ella knocks on my door.

"Would you like lunch in your office today, Ranger?" she asks pleasantly.

"Yes, and for Pete as well," I respond. "Ella, make up an apartment on four for Stephanie. She will need a place to stay as she convalescences from her illness. She's uncomfortable if I spend too much money on her, but I would like it to feel like a home to her. We will try to retrieve some of her property, but she frankly doesn't own much right now."

"Yes, Ranger, I've already started. I think she will also be more comfortable with the personal touches I place in the space if she sees the other apartments looking the same, so I propose creating a policy that allows anyone who is moving into an apartment an allowance, including paint and decorator items, to personalize the space," Ella responds. I see the wisdom and make a note on my lengthy to-do list. Ella waits for me to make eye contact before continuing.

"Stephanie will be taken care of, and I will also understand if she doesn't sleep a night there either and opts to stay on seven instead," she says with a knowing smile.

As Ella leaves, Pete enters and takes a seat. "This went a lot faster than I expected. More than half of your employees refused to take the settlement, and instead signed a contract legally waiving their rights to pursue a claim at a later date. Two employees Tank hired decided to take the settlement money but indicated they would like a letter of recommendation. I spoke with Cal and Zero on a conference call. They will be arriving tomorrow. I have a verbal agreement that they will accept your settlement, special bonus, and want a transfer back to the Trenton office. My associates are verifying the paperwork is in order before we pack up shop," Pete declares.

"Excellent. I'll be meeting with Trenton's Chief of Police in two hours. I want you with me when I meet with the Chief to explain our present situation and the new direction Rangeman is taking. While I hope to rebuild our relationship with TPD, I don't trust several members on the force. Go through our paperwork and see what things we go through TPD for, whether that is contracts, apprehension paperwork, permits, everything. Find out what we need to keep a close eye on and what we can transfer to a more neutral entity for processing.

"I will also be speaking with Steph, possibly today depending on how she is doing. I'm going to try to convince her to press charges against Tank and Vinnie. Perhaps a restraining order will be helpful. Tank left a voice mail on Steph's phone that is harassing and threatening. I need you ready to present our evidence against those two to TPD and represent Steph's interests," I state as Ella returns with hummus, chicken, and veggie wraps with a fruit and nut salad.

"Thank you, Ella," Pete says as she departs.

We both pause in our conversation a moment as we savor the first few bites. When it picks up, we brainstorm ideas as to Tank's motivations and ways we can prevent further harm. Pete shakes my hand twenty minutes later to check on his associates, and I settle behind my desk.

I decide to use my personal phone to call Senator Juniak. "Hello, Ranger," he answers after the first ring. "Welcome home, permanently, I hear."

"Yes, Senator," I respond. "It's good to be home. I'm calling to request an opportunity to speak at your earliest convenience, sir."

"Unfortunately, that's not going to be possible for several weeks. I'm about to depart on a wave the flag tour in Eastern Europe. However, I do have time now. What's on your mind?" Senator Juniak replies. "Does this have anything to do with Stephanie?" he continues after a slight pause, his tone less formal.

"Partially, yes," I state. "When I left for my last mission a year ago, I placed Tank in charge of Rangeman Trenton, and Lester and Tank shared responsibilities for corporate Rangeman functions. Tank used his position to amend many of Rangeman's standard operating procedures and changed company culture to one similar to a boot camp. I've unearthed several consequences to his actions. The first is Stephanie. He removed all Rangeman support from her, and after the Farro takedown, which I'm assuming you're aware of, took steps to alienate her. This included working with Vinnie to ensure she would gain access to files outside of her ability level and gave him a bonus if she was hurt apprehending said FTA," I state bluntly, knowing Senator Juniak respects minimal bullshit.

"Goddamnit!" I hear him exclaim under his breath.

"Two of my men worked outside of Tank's knowledge to protect Stephanie, and their actions helped enable me to convince her to trust myself and a couple members of my Core Team. She is currently residing at Rangeman and being given medical care due to injuries sustained from a bad takedown. Stephanie will be okay," I continue.

"The second consequence is that Tank's policies violated several state and federal labor laws, among other things. My attorney has diligently gone through our records, and I have offered a settlement to all affected employees and will be preemptively be paying the fines for the company's wrongdoings.

"Tank was forced out of Rangeman yesterday, and the Core Team has been restructured. Stephanie is one of the new Core Team members. During the buyout, Tank confessed to fifty-seven incidents of conspiracy with Vinnie to have Steph harmed. He also signed paperwork agreeing to have all of his assets placed in an escrow account until all fines have been paid, including reparations against Stephanie. Around 0200, he left a harassing and threatening voice mail against Steph, likely after he realized he was unemployed and penniless," I finish explaining.

"You did all of that in three days?" Senator Juniak states incredulously before continuing without waiting for my response. "If you are willing, have your attorney send copies of the settlement contracts, violations, the whole nine yards, to my office. I will reach out on my end to mitigate the fallout to Rangeman, especially since you are willing to pay fines up front and have already reached an employee settlement."

"Thank you, Senator. It will be done today. I appreciate your support," I responded sincerely.

"What are you planning to do regarding Tank and Vinnie's criminal activity against my Goddaughter?" Senator Juniak asks sternly.

"We are building an evidence package against Tank and Vinnie to support charges against them, which we are going to encourage Stephanie to file. In terms of security, we have increased physical and electronic monitoring. We intend to assist TPD with what we hope is an imminent arrest. I'll be meeting with the Chief later this afternoon," I explain.

"How is Vinnie's father-in-law doing these days?" Senator Juniak muses. "I hope you find time to pay him a visit soon, and please send my regards."

"Yes, sir, I will," I immediately reply with a quirk to the corners of my mouth.

"Thank you for making my Goddaughter your first priority, Ranger. You're a good man. Stephanie is a special person, but I don't think she knows it after the Burg finished chewing her up and spitting her out. Take care of her, please," Senator Juniak says quietly, and I'm humbled by his tone.

"She is, and yes, I am doing everything I can to support her. You have my word," I say, my usually impassive tone slipping.

We go discuss a few more practicalities before ending the call. I tell Pete to work in cooperation with Senator Juniak's office, and I spend the next couple of hours catching up work, only looking up when I hear a knock on the door.

"Ranger," Lester says, poking his head through the door. "Ready to head down to TPD?"

"Ten minutes," I respond, logging off my computer and heading up to seven to get my jacket. I prefer not to walk into the station displaying my weapons. It draws too much attention from morons like Morelli and Gaspick. Also in the interest of keeping a lower profile, I leave the Porsche in the garage and drive a black Ford Explorer instead.

Lester and I drive by Tank's house on the way to the Station. His truck is parked at the curb, but we don't see any evidence of the man himself. It takes everything I have not to stop the SUV, break down the door, and _ask_ him what the fuck he was thinking of leaving that God-forsaken voice mail to Steph. However, the last thing I need is for a nosey neighbor or even Tank to call the cops, especially when I'm on my way to the station to schmooze them. I can't go off guns blazing, no matter how justified.

Pete is waiting for us in the parking lot, and the three of us are quickly ushered back to the Chief. Ezra Feldman is shorter than me, all dense, compact muscle, with dark hair and glittering dark eyes set against fair skin. He's a sharp man with a short temper he works hard to keep in check, and his mouth is set in a firm line even as he rises to shake my hand and offers me a seat in front of his desk after introductions and pleasantries are exchanged.

"What can I do for you Ranger?" Chief Feldman says shortly.

"I've learned of mismanagement that occurred at Rangeman during my absence, and Tank has been subsequently fired. I'm here to offer my personal apology for any missteps taken by employees of my company during my absence as well as ask for your support monitoring Tank's activities. I've only been home three days, but I believe some of his actions were illegal, and my team is working to put together an evidence package for you," I say directly, but inside, my heart feels heavy to be taking this necessary step.

Chief Feldman's hard expression doesn't change. "I have a love/hate relationship with you, Ranger. I loved that your company helped decrease crime in Trenton and made our case solve rate increase exponentially. Those results were the encouragement I needed to look the other way on some of your _gray area_ tactics, despite the protests of some in the station and community. This last year has been a complete headache for me. Your company's tactics are shifting from grey to stark black at times, the solve rate has gone way down, and there's a growing animosity between my men in blue and your men in black. I don't know what _mismanagement_ you discovered. I'm willing to give you a grace period to get your feet wet again. However, I need to see some changes in the way business is conducted in this city if you want to enjoy the working relationship we've shared up to this point," he states, his narrowed eyes giving away his simmering anger and frustration more than the tone of his voice.

"Yes, Chief. Thank you, and I'll personally oversee those changes," I respond, taking another bite from my now regular diet of humble pie.

"Tell me more about Tank," Chief Feldman says, sitting back slightly. "I know you aren't here about some corporate white-collar bullshit."

"Pete," I say, inclining my head towards him. Pete begins to explain the situation, and as he does, Chief Feldman rests all the way back in this chair, his fingers steepled under his chin in thought.

"Stephanie Plum is the best Fugitive Apprehension Agent in this city. While I'm not happy with Rangeman, Plum has more than made up for some of those deficiencies. She's got everyone in this station scared of her. Hell, I'm a little scared of her. She hunts down criminals with a determined, selfless edge that's frankly inspiring. That Tank might be targeting her is unacceptable from my point of view. I need her more than I need him. Yes, I'll make sure patrol is keeping an eye out. As for Vinnie, well, until you bring me more evidence, there isn't a lot I can do there. I can start getting warrants and poking around, but…" the Chief says, trailing off.

I meet his gaze equally and give a determined nod. Yes, I can take care of Vinnie.

We wrap up the meeting, and the anger I've feel pacing in the foreground of my subconscious the past twenty-four hours is clambering for attention. As I drive, I try to focus on happy thoughts, namely Stephanie, but I find myself hyper-focused on Chief Feldman's description. Stephanie the hard-edged, take-no-shit, ruthless bounty hunter who would take any risk to get her man. Then I think of the emotionally uncertain woman laying in Medical, insecure and mistrusting, who is determinedly fighting to regain her sense of self. Sure, Chief Feldman is going to help, but it's because Steph brought him results, not because of who she is as a person.

I pull in front of the Bond's Office and storm inside, catching the edge of Vinnie's office door before he can slam and bolt it shut like the chicken shit he is. Vinnie stumbles backward towards the far corner as I advance and Lester takes a post in front of the closed door. I know how to make myself appear more substantial than I am, and I automatically adjust myself to my largest, most threatening posture, my ordinary blank face replaced with malice.

"Hello, Vinnie," I say, flashing my teeth in a grin. All color rapidly washes out of Vinnie's face as he trembles uncontrollably. "I heard you have a new side hustle going on between Rangeman and yourself," I continue evenly. I rarely find shouting effective. People expect me to shout, and it's easy to tune out. People never expect a calm, rational tone, and it exudes a level of control that is more terrifying than any rant could ever be.

"No, no, you've got it wrong. You don't understand," Vinnie begins desperately, shutting up as I take a step forward.

"Make me understand. What's the going rate for betraying your family these days?" I question, my eyes boring into his.

Vinnie doesn't look like he's going to respond, and I step to the side slightly as Lester flips open his pocket knife and begins twirling it around his fingers.

"I won't ask this question again. How. Much." I demand, and Vinnie pisses his pants.

"Two thousand dollars if she took the files, four thousand if she got hurt. Two hundred and eighty-eight thousand total," Vinnie simpers, his eyes darting between Lester and me. I let the silence settle between us and wait. It doesn't take long for Vinnie to begin filling it.

"I knew it was lousy, but I had debts to pay, and those guys, well, the interest rate is steep, if you know what I mean. I figured Stephanie would be fine. She's smart. I never thought she would take files she couldn't handle, and getting hurt, well, it's part of the job. I mean, she was going to take whatever files she wanted anyway, and I didn't see the harm in getting paid for her choices. No one made her do anything. I mean, she's Rambette…" Vinnie begins defensively, but his bravado fails quickly as he sees the expressions on our faces.

"Your dealings with Tank end now. He collects no bounties. You exchange no monies. If he contacts you, you contact me. Period. Do you understand?" I demand, raising my voice slightly.

Vinnie nods like a Bobblehead. "Yes, yes," he repeats.

I lean forward slightly. "I'll be watching you, Vinnie, and I'll know if you so much as look in Tank's direction. Expect to hear from me soon," I say, my nose millimeters away from his.

Then I stand and stride out of the office as Vinnie collapses to the floor in the corner. I pause at Connie's desk to pick up Rangeman's stack of FTA files. I stare intently at Connie, and she silently adds Stephanie's files to the pile as well, glancing behind me at the pathetic figure of her boss sobbing in the corner of his office.

"Batman's back!" I hear Lula exclaim, heaving herself off of the couch as the breading from the bucket of fried chicken she was eating scatters off her dress, if you can call the abused piece of spandex that, and onto the floor. "I thought I saw the Batmobile driving around the Burg. Is that why we ain't seen Stephanie around here the past two days? Making it a happy homecoming, are we?" she presses crassly.

I don't give her a millisecond of my attention as I pass the files to Lester and stride confidently out of the office.

"God, I missed you, Ranger," Lester says, a smile playing across his face as I pull away from the curb and return to Rangeman.

* * *

**A/N: **I look forward to Mondays! I love posting new chapters and seeing everyone's comments and musing pour in.

Speaking of, there several reviews where you guys expressed your love/hate relationship with the Tank in this story, and you wondered if there was more to why he is the way he is. I hope this chapter addressed some of those musings, and we will also hear some more from Tank later on. I saw several requests for Merry Men POVs. You'll get to hear from Cal in chapter 21 (makes the most sense timeline-wise) and read his reflections on the new Rangeman and coming back to Trenton. You can also look forward to hearing from Connie at the beginning of Chapter 19. Great suggestions everyone – keep them coming!

I saw that a couple of you weren't able to open the Pinterest page. I tried again to make sure the settings are right. Go to:

www dot pinterest dot com / HermioneIncarnate / warrior-stephanie-plum-haircut /

We can't copy hyperlinks into a FF posting. Remove the spaces around the slashes and change the "dots" to periods.

Misty23y helps to catch all my mistakes and keeps the story on track. She also challenges me to think more multi-dimensionally, and I love how she makes my writing better. Meylons is why the medical portion of this story has the zing of truth. I'm grateful for your help and encouragement!


	19. Chapter 19

**Disclaimer:** Anything recognizable belongs to Janet Evanovich, and the rest is mine. I'm grateful she lets us play.

**Warning:** Dark fic. Adult language, adult content, violence, smut. This is written for mature audiences only.

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**Chapter 19**

**Connie's POV**

"Hmpf," Lula says, flopping back down on the couch. "Besides that man's ass and bank account, I have no idea what Stephanie sees in Batman. Too mysterious for my tastes, not like my Tankie. Now there's a real man," she continues pontificating, pausing to snort as Vinnie slams his office door shut.

I watch as Lula wipes her greasy fingers on the edge of the leather sofa before laying back down again with the bucket on her lap. "Do you know what I think? I'll tell you what I think," she barrels on, not waiting for my reply. "I think Batman and Stephanie deserve each other. Stephanie's turned into a frigid bitch this year, and Batman is too much of a man of mystery for my taste. I bet he's a domineering lover, giving commands and taking what he wants. Not for me. I'm a take-charge kind of woman, but I always give my man his pleasure first, if you know what I mean. It's a trick I learned on the streets. Keep a man satisfied, and he'll keep coming back. I bet Stephanie is too big a prude. I bet that's why Morelli dumped her ass. A man has needs, and there's no way she can keep someone as endowed as him satisfied with her skinny white ass. My friends on Stark say he's a real freak in bed," Lula continues to judge and ramble, but I start to tune her endless droning out.

A light on my office phone gleams red, and I know Vinnie is on his desk line. I flip through to the digital readout, and the number comes up as unknown. Great. Only more trouble comes from unlisted phone calls, and I'm getting increasingly tired of making sure I'm not entangled in Vinnie's trouble.

I've worked for Vincent Plum since he hung his shingle. Harry wanted me to keep an eye on things to protect his investment and his daughter. It's safe and stable work, even with Stephanie's mishaps, at least as far as work affiliated with the mob is concerned. But I've watched this past year as Vinnie's personal life and professional life have increasingly intersected as his debts began to mount.

I hate that he's using Stephanie's misfortunes to fund his depraved lifestyle and gambling, and for the life of me, I can't figure out why Lula is still an employee here. She makes more work than she does. Lula must either service Vinnie or have some form of blackmail over him. It's the only thing that makes sense. I also thought it might be because she and Steph seemed to have some kind of semi-productive partnership and friendship going on. It seemed to me that Lula caused more trouble for Stephanie than she helped her, but Steph always welcomed Lula's help, so who I was I to judge from behind my computer screen. The skips came in, and Vinnie was happy.

I was thrilled the day Stephanie came to work here. She was the determined breath of fresh air I needed around here, and I even had a bit of a girl crush on her. I don't have a lot of friends, mostly acquaintances I can't trust. I've done a pretty lousy job of returning that friendship this past year.

The light to Vinnie's line goes dark, and a few minutes later, I hear the slamming of the backdoor and squealing of tires. I pick up my cell and text Lucille that Vinnie left the office. Somewhere along the line, Lucille became my best friend. She and I have bonded over the misfortune of having our lives intertwined with a loser. I think one reason I stayed on in this job for so long is that I didn't want another where we didn't have cause to interact. Even still, something has to give.

I know that Vinnie has set Stephanie up to take on FTAs that are above her skill level. I think there's some kind of payday going on. I confronted him on it after Farro, but Vinnie threatened to go public with my biggest secret if I didn't keep my head down and my mouth shut. I close my eyes and pinch my nose.

I know what went down on Stark Street Tuesday night. I wrote the body receipt out to Stephanie, but it was Lester who took it. Stephanie hasn't worked with Rangeman voluntarily since Farro, and if Lester took Sanchez in, it means Stephanie was in trouble. It only took me two phone calls to get the gist of what happened. I'm sure Steph is currently recuperating, either at Rangeman or her secret apartment. I, on the other hand, haven't slept well since then knowing Steph could have died just to hide the fact that I'm bisexually oriented from the Burg.

I send a couple more text messages, and when the replies come back, I begin the process of shutting down the office.

"And just between you and me," Lula continues, never realizing or caring that I haven't squeezed a word in edgewise as she droned on and on. "Tankie says that he's got some big project in the works and that Ranger doesn't appreciate him no more. He says that he learned so much this year that Tank's gonna start his own security company, and that he wants to take me with him. Now there's a man who appreciates a big, beautiful, hard-working woman. I've done a lot to help him, and not just sexually. This is a give and take relationship. Well, speaking of, I gotta go get my nails done. He's taking me out all nice tonight. We're going to celebrate his rising fortune. Might even need to go to the mall, so, I'll be heading out now," Lula says, giving a big puff of air as she rolls off the couch and waddles over to her handbag. "I'll probably be in late tomorrow, too. Gotta take care of Tankie's morning needs, too, if you know what I mean," she smirks, the door slamming behind her. I give my head a small shake as I repress the unwanted mental imagery before looking at the trash left on the carpet and couch, along with the stack of filing, and sigh. Yep, it's time for things to change around here.

I take a deep breath and let it out slowly. That's quite a coincidence, I think. Tank's quitting Rangeman at the same time Ranger and Lester come in here and threaten Vinnie shitless. God, I've missed having Ranger and Stephanie around here. I miss the good old days, but if I'm honest, they weren't that good. Too many love triangles, gossips, and nobody was satisfied.

Tank and Vinnie. Tank, Vinnie, and Lula, I muse. Then, I look between the stack of files waiting to go back into the cabinets, flip through them, and drop them back into the basket with astonishment. Well, fuck me.

I open the hidden compartment in my desk and pull out a key to Vinnie's office. I never use it, partly because I don't want to catch a disease and partially because I'm not sure he doesn't have it monitored. Doesn't matter now. I start digging through Vinnie's drawers, frustrated when I don't see anything out of the ordinary.

Where do you hide your secrets, you perverted little man? On one wall are framed photographs of Joey Giardello, Sophia Loren, JFK Jr., and Frank Sinatra. Next to that is a Ferrari lithograph and a movie poster for the Godfather. I could nearly gag on the number of stereotypes represented on one wall, but at least it isn't pornography. He probably curated it to appeal to the tastes of anyone who would likely walk through the door, thereby increasing business. At least he doesn't make the Pope watch his dirty deeds, I think wryly.

Starting at the photos, I notice Sophia has more fingerprints than the others. I pull the picture off of the wall, disappointed to see nothing. I stand in the room a moment, holding the frame in my hands when I realize it's heavier than it should be. I open the fasteners and pull off the backing, satisfied to see a thin ledger. I grab the book, return the office to its original state, and promptly put on hand sanitizer after returning to my desk.

I then begin to pull out anything of personal value, which wasn't much and put it into my purse. My days as Vincent Plum's secretary were numbered.

As I lock up, I sling my purse over my shoulder with my opposing hand inside, ready to draw and fire my S&W if necessary. I wonder if Stephanie felt this paranoid the past year, I think, reaching my car. No wonder she stopped being chatty, and guilt constricts my stomach.

I drive out to a safe house in Hamilton Township that the mob owns but seldom uses. I know neither Tank nor Vinnie will trace me there. It's a small, non-descript townhouse in a non-descript neighborhood where people mind their business much more than the Burg. I go in through the backdoor to the kitchen and flip on the light.

"Hello Ranger, Lester," I say, putting my bag on the counter.

"Connie," Ranger replies, looking at me with that inscrutable expression of his.

"Based on Vinnie's condition after you left this afternoon, I'm sure you figured out he and Tank were working together to make sure Steph got the dangerous skips. I don't, however, think you know everything," I state, sliding the ledger across the counter towards Ranger. I then reach into my bag and pull out a flash drive and push it next to the ledger.

"I knew something fishy was going on, but working with Vinnie as long as I have, I turned a blind eye when I should have been brave. Well, I can't do anything about the past, but I can fix things moving forward. That ledger shows all of Vinnie's gambling debts, payments owed to his madame and personal masseuse, hush payments and bribes, and monies Tank paid Vinnie. That flash drive is a voice recording of every phone call Vinnie made on his office phone in the last six months. I started making the recordings as insurance as I saw him become increasingly disloyal to his own," I add in response to Ranger's raised eyebrow.

"There's more," I sigh, looking between the two imposing men before me. "I normally tune Lula's incessant chatting out, but today it caught my attention that she was saying that she helps and works for Tank. Now, seeing Lula work is a rare sight, let alone something worth bragging about, and after doing some of her work myself, I wondered for the umpteenth time why Vinnie didn't finally fire her. I started thinking about any time I ever did see Lula work, and I realized it was only to rifle through incoming skip files, not the resolved files she was supposed to file. I snooped through Vinnie's office and found that ledger, and it confirms my suspicions. What I'm saying is," feeling increasingly nervous under the scrutiny of the men before me, "that I think Lula has been passing information to Stephanie's skips to tip them off and increase the potential that she would be hurt. Lula must have found out about Tank paying Vinnie and decided to get in on both sides. She thinks Tank is her meal ticket and that he's going to marry her someday. She blackmailed Vinnie to give her a cut of the payment Tank gave him every time Steph got hurt. It's all in the book."

I drum my fingers on the edge of the counter before digging in my bag for a piece of gum to chew.

"Why are you sharing this with me?" Ranger asks after flipping through the ledger and calmly passing it to Lester, but his eyes feel like they are piercing me.

"Call it conscience, call it being fed up," I say exasperatedly. "I'm quitting, but I'll stay on a little longer if it helps you nail Vinnie and Lula. I didn't help Stephanie when I should have, but I'm doing something about it now. Once the shit hits the fan with Vinnie, Lucille is filing for divorce, and she and I are moving to Florida. Harry can go fuck himself if he thinks I'm putting up with this "protecting our reputation" bullshit any longer. I'm done. I'm ready for sunshine, margaritas, and true love. A fairy tale ending, if there ever was one, as far as I'm concerned."

Lester looks mildly impressed, and I'm relieved when Ranger relaxes his posture. "Give me a week, Connie, before you ride off into the proverbial sunset," Ranger says, and I smile in return while Lester gives a bark of laughter. "First I need some more information," he continues with a more serious tone.

As we discuss the finer points of nailing Tank, Vinnie, and Lula's asses, I feel a weight lift from my shoulders. As I'm about to secure the safe house behind us, I turn back to Ranger. "Please tell Stephanie I'm sorry," I say, my face as contrite as my tone. He gives me a small nod before disappearing into the shadows with Lester.

* * *

**A/N: **As I wrote the next few chapters, I struggled with length versus switching POVs versus fluff. I don't enjoy writing fluff, so that was out, but it also means that unless we either went back and forth all over the place, had weird chapter endings, or had some ridiculously long chapters, I needed to break things up. This chapter and chapters 20 and 21 are all shorter than the average chapter (5 pages in Word instead of 9), but I felt I was able to honor the story better by making the specific points I wanted to convey. As a bonus, this decision also means I'll be able to post today, Monday, and next Thursday. Woo hoo! More reading fixes!

Thank you so much for your wonderful comments. There were several from new posters, and this is an extra big THANKS from me to you. You guys are wonderfully encouraging, and when I get distracted from writing, you keep me coming back to make sure the ideas and story is developed as good as it can be.

Misty23y really helped me with structure and in making sure I've got all my plotlines covered as we begin to wrap up this story. Thank you for going above and beyond grammar. Meylons kindly answers all of my questions and keeps the medical part of this story in check. Thanks, Babes!


	20. Chapter 20

**Disclaimer:** Anything recognizable belongs to Janet Evanovich, and the rest is mine. I'm grateful she lets us play.

**Warning:** Dark fic. Adult language, adult content, violence, smut. This is written for mature audiences only.

* * *

**Chapter 20**

**Stephanie's POV**

I listen to the sounds of the room, relieved to hear silence, before slowly opening my eyes. Hector is sitting in a chair beside me, his laptop perched on one of Bobby's side tables on wheels, and his face is set in intense concentration as he rapidly reads whatever is on the screen. I don't see Bobby or Alex, but I presume one of them is near.

It's the most alone I've been in two days, and I close my eyes again and remain still to take advantage of the moment. As I lay there, I try to think through everything that's happened since I pushed my panic button, or really, since Ranger came home. Ultimately, I feel as though my world has been turned upside down. I give that idea pause, but it doesn't seem to fit. Perhaps it's that my world is turning right side up again, and somehow in all the tossing and turning, some things came loose that will never be put back the way they were before.

Like Tank. Like my family.

Like me.

I feel sad at the last thought for a brief moment, but that is quickly eclipsed by acceptance. The only thing constant about life is change. I've changed. It isn't entirely for the better, but nor is it solely for the worse. It just is. I will never be the same, but I'm okay with that. Not everyone will be, but that's their problem, not mine.

While I may be increasingly okay with who I am, flaws and all, I'm less and less thrilled about being me stuck in this medical bed attached to tubes and wires. Tank threatened my people, and I'm doing nothing to help them. Hell, he could walk in here any second, and I couldn't even help protect myself. I swore I would never be completely powerless again, yet here I lay, beholden to the protection of others. That's the old Stephanie, and she can stay in the past.

I open my eyes again and stare at Hector. Humans have a seventh sense about being watched, and it doesn't take long for Hector's line to sight to shift to match mine.

"Tank?" I say, not realizing how dry and scratchy my throat is until I rasp out the name.

Hector doesn't ignore my question to redirect me with something else, like _how do I feel?_ It's one of the reasons we have the friendship we do. "Under surveillance, visual and electronic. At home, sleeping off what must be a hangover based on the number of bottles strewn around his property. Your family is safe, _Angelita_," he reports evenly.

I give a grim nod of understanding. "What are you working on?" I follow up, but I'm interrupted by Bobby who does ask how I am feeling. I heave a slight sigh before answering, "Like I don't want to be in this bed anymore, but I understand why I must," I state with the slightest undercurrent of frustration.

Bobby gives me a small smile. "You're doing great, Steph, and honestly, your restlessness is a great sign to me that you're on the mend. The first twenty-four hours are down, and you only have two days left. I know it's hard, but resting will allow your body to heal so much faster. I bet one week from now you'll feel better than you have in the past three months," Bobby says in what is meant to be an encouragement, but all I hear is _two more days_. I repress a groan. I need to be able to do something to contribute to the fight to protect people from Tank.

"Time for a round of vitals. Open up, Bomber," Bobby smirks, presenting a thermometer wand and pressing it under my tongue. He double checks my blood pressure and writes down a few notes before removing it again. "Holding steady at 100.2F. Tell me, Steph, how _are _you feeling? The better I know, the better we treat you, the faster you get out of here. Remember, seventy-two hours is the minimum," Bobby presses, a hint of concern in his voice.

"Better, the same, and worse," I answer, and Bobby gives a bark of laughter while Hector quirks an eyebrow. "My knee feels better like the swelling is going down. My chest feels a little lighter. This headache is persistent, my joints feel the same, stiff and achy, and my skin is ultra-sensitive. I think that's all from the fever. My throat is pretty scratchy, and I'm hungry," I report.

"Thank you, Steph," Bobby replies with a thoughtful look. "We've been giving you ibuprofen up to this point. I can begin alternating that dose with acetaminophen to be more aggressive with the fever. I'll also have Ella bring a late lunch over. Some hot chicken broth will feel great on your throat," Bobby says, not waiting for my reply before picking up his phone and sending a text.

I turn my attention back to Hector. "I'm reviewing background checks on Tank, Vinnie, Morelli, and Farro," Hector says, watching me for any reaction closely.

"Set me up with a computer so I can see the reports as well," I state resolutely.

Hector hesitates, and I can see he's trying to decide if I'll lose my lunch again if I read whatever he's looking at. And then I know what I have to do. I can't be who I was the past year anymore. I can't quietly demand what I want from everyone with short statements and hard stares. Hector cares about me. I also can't be old Stephanie who sneaks around everyone to get whatever I want; the consequences be damned for my good intentions. I have to be willing to be vulnerable with those I trust, and I need to share my truths.

I reach my hand out toward Hector, and he places his in mine while continuing to assess me. I press my chapped lips into a thin line before quietly confessing, "I feel helpless, laying here. I know Ranger said that the best thing I can do is rest and get better, and he's right. But I can rest, get better, _and_ do something to contribute to the fight. My family and friends are at risk because of me. There is a part of me that feels like I walked back into Rangeman and once again, my sense of power and control is stripped away. I'm monitored, information is withheld from me, and I'm at the mercy of others bigger and stronger than me. I know deep down it isn't true, and the rational part of me knows I am being loved and protected, but I don't even have a weapon. I hate feeling this useless and weak. Please, Hector, let me do something to help besides lay here. Please."

"_Mi Angelita_," Hector says quietly before slowly and gently pulling me into a hug. "You are not weak," he whispers fiercely. "You are a survivor, and you are loved."

Hector sits back slightly but continues to sit on the edge of the bed. "You are safe here, _Estefania_, and it's okay to stand down. Nothing Tank does is your fault. Nothing. If, and we are all working very hard to prevent this, if anything happens to someone you care about because of Tank, that is his fault and never yours. Understand?" he queries with intense compassion.

"I know, Hector. I do," I start, breaking eye contact as I gather my thoughts. "It's just that sometimes I feel like there are two opposing sides to my brain vying for dominance. Does that make sense?" I say in frustration.

Hector gives my hand a squeeze. "Yes. I know exactly what you are saying, and it's good you are telling me. It makes it easier to sort out what's true and what's not, right?" he responds, and I nod yes with my eyebrows furrowed together. "You aren't in this alone, and therapy, it helped me a lot to sort out my thoughts, and so did my friends," he continues, giving me a meaningful look.

"I'm working very hard to trust you guys, and I want to. Please, give me something to do. It will make it much easier for me to lay here," I respond, more assured.

"I will ask Ranger. He gave me this assignment, and one thing he told us is that we are to treat you like any other Rangeman employee. I would never give the reports to even Lester or Bobby without his clearance. I wouldn't ask if I didn't think it was a good idea, but I'm also not going to undermine the Boss," Hector states. There's a part of me that wants to balk. Ask permission from Ranger? Those reports affect my life! But instead of shooting off my Jersey mouth, I let the other half of my brain catch up. I'm being treated like an equal. There is privilege and respect in that. It's presumptuous for me to assume I can take whatever I want whenever I want. If I wish to rebuild my rapport with the men in black, I need to be willing to toe the line sometimes.

"Thank you," I eventually say, and I give a small smile at the look of surprise that flashes across Hector's face. He had clearly braced himself for a fight.

Hector resumes his station in the bedside chair as Bobby holds the door open for Ella.

"Hello, Dear," she chirps, placing a tray on the table Hector vacates. "I made my chicken noodle soup, a mug of ginger-lemon tea, and some fresh bread. What else can I do for you?"

I glance at Bobby. "Any chance you'll let me use the restroom alone?" I ask, and he shakes his head no. "Will Ella suffice as my babysitter?" I follow up, and he gives a small smile before beginning to adjust the lines. I know Alex said not to worry about bothering her, but she's in for a long night if she doesn't get rest, and I'm intensely uncomfortable with peeing around one of the guys.

"Hector, can I lean on you?" I ask, as I slowly swing my legs around. He has an arm under my shoulders the next second. I take my time standing, but I'm relieved that it's easier than yesterday. We take slow steps together, but it's walking. Progress is progress. Hector closes the door behind him, and Ella already has the water on. I'm instantly grateful for everyone's thoughtfulness in these small moments.

It's twenty minutes by the time I settle back in bed again, but I can't help but feel proud. It's time to follow this success up with eating and keeping something in. I want out of this bed, and I need nourishment to do that. Ella lingers, and Hector offers her his chair.

"Stephanie, do you mind if I discuss a few things with you while you eat?" she asks.

"Sure," I state simply before taking another spoonful of this incredible soup. God, this is so good.

"Have you given any thought as to where you would like to stay as you continue to recover? I hope it's here, Dear. I'd love to make up an apartment on four or a space on seven just for you, and I'd love to give you what you want and need instead of guessing. I do hope I'm not too forward, but I also didn't want the next day and a half to go by with you wondering if you even have a place here. Stephanie, even if you weren't a Rangeman employee, I want you to know you always have a home here. Always. I love you as a daughter, and it broke my heart to see your pain from afar this past year and not be able to help. I want to help you now," Ella says, her eyes shining from unshed tears.

I'm left speechless, and I rest my spoon in the bowl as I take a moment to absorb what Ella told me. I had already determined I wouldn't be able to recover from this illness and injury alone, but I hadn't figured out the answer yet. The logical side of me immediately understands that this is the opportunity I need and that I should quickly say yes. But this isn't only about logic, and I can't place into words the heaviness that rests on my heart.

"I visited your apartment yesterday, _Estefania_," Hector says, interrupting my thoughts. "Bobby and Alex thought something else could be exacerbating your respiratory issues, and I was instructed to inspect for mold." Hector passes me his phone, and I'm appalled at the pictures he took. I can't believe I was living in such squalor. _Was_.

I look away and begin picking at my cuticles. This is the second time Ella has called Rangeman my home, and I feel a tightening in my chest at the word. Do I have a home? My parent's house certainly never felt like home. I couldn't wait to grow up and leave that harsh and judgmental environment. I immediately went to college, and even though one hardly thinks of dormitories and shared apartments as a home, but for me, it was my first step to freedom.

I started dating Dickie within a year of graduation. He attended Rutgers Law, and I moved in with him almost immediately. I thought I was making a home then. I'm not even sure what upset me more; Dickie's infidelity or that he did it on the dining room table. When we said, "I do," I had dared to imagine a family around that table. So much of the Burg's traditions revolve around food and meals. I knew I was pregnant, and there was a moment when I saw first birthday parties, my mother pleased with me as I hosted a holiday dinner, and being happy in domesticity. When I burned that table, any dreams I had of a home and family went up with it.

Nobody understood why I clung to my old apartment so fiercely. When I left Dickie, the only thing I took with me was debt. College debt, car debt, and the real kicker, credit card debt I never knew about. He used my social security number to open a card in both of our names, and then charged all of the hotel rooms, dinners, and gifts he bought his mistresses. The judge split it evenly in the settlement, and I was stuck with an extra $8,639.21 in debt. My job as a lingerie buyer paid reasonably well, but I was so debt-laden, I didn't have the luxury of extras. That apartment allowed me to live within my means as I worked my way to financial freedom one penny at a time. Over time I became settled, and I suppose it was the closest thing to a home I've ever known.

Each subsequent break-in, death cooties invasion, firebombing, shooting, and God knows what else that happened in those 812 square feet chipped away at the small sense of home I had built up for myself. It wasn't hard for me to give it up after Farro, because it has already started to feel like a revolving door for the who's who in criminal activity. I never felt at home at Morelli's house, and even when we were at our best, I never kept very much of my stuff there. I always had more tucked away in the bathroom and bedroom closet on seven.

Until this last year, Ranger's world was synonymous with danger and safety. After Farro, safety was replaced with betrayal, but that was when I was in Ranger's world without Ranger. I know now that many things were misunderstood this past year, but other things, such as Tank's behavior, were what my gut expected. I have learned the last two days that I am stronger with my support system than without it. Ranger has been my comfort, and Hector has been my rock. I'm growing in my relationship with Bobby and Lester. I know Alex and Ella care and have my best interests at heart.

After my childhood and failed marriage to Dickie, I learned to value my independence deeply. I shied away from living at Rangeman previously because, among other things, I felt my every moment was too closely scrutinized. However, at least at the moment, I'm grateful for the physical security of my environment. I'm not remotely pleased to have had my weapons taken away. That said, if I were to be fully armed in my apartment, would I be able to fight back? The truth is no. I'd be completely vulnerable.

So, I can't go back to where I was living before, but why can't I be happy at the prospect of living here? Ella sees this as my home, and based on the guardedly hopeful expressions on Hector and Bobby's faces, they want it to be as well. Without asking Ranger, I already know what his answer will be. What will it take for this to feel like my home as well?

_Home is where the heart is. _The sentiment takes me off guard. Where is my heart? Certainly not in my apartment, at my parent's house, or even in this room.

"Ranger," I breath, and I know it's true. He's my home, and he has been for a long time. I swallow back the tears I feel suddenly forming.

"I'm tired," I say honestly. "Could we finish talking about this later?"

Ella stands and leans over to give me a warm hug and kisses my forehead, and it's the automatic reaction of a mother to a daughter, and an experience I've never shared with my own. "Of course, Dear," Ella says kindly. "Take all the time you need, and I'm here whenever you want to chat."

I lean my head against the pillow and close my eyes. I wasn't lying about being tired. I hear Bobby pad to his office, and I can feel Hector's stare, but I'm not going to justify myself. I may have had several life-changing events and realizations the last several days, but I haven't had a complete personality change. I drift off with my last thought the wisp of hope that I might someday find a home.

* * *

**A/N: **Reading everyone's reactions to Connie's POV was so fun! I'm glad all of you liked my dive into her perspective. It felt great to be a little unexpected. 😊

Tanyaleigh – It was delightful to go through the story with you via reviews. Welcome to Warrior!

To everyone – Thank you for your commitment to this story through your notes, favorites, follows and page hits. I'm going to work on adding Alex's POV as a way to expand our narrative perspective. Great idea – keep them coming!

Misty23y and Meylons – I'm grateful you've shared your time and talents with me.


	21. Chapter 21

**Disclaimer:** Anything recognizable belongs to Janet Evanovich, and the rest is mine. I'm grateful she lets us play.

**Warning:** Dark fic. Adult language, adult content, violence, smut. This is written for mature audiences only.

* * *

**Chapter 21**

**Stephanie's POV**

My sleep is chaotically vivid. It's the same, but everything is different. My usual Farro haunting is changing as the narrative is overlaid with Tank's voicemail. I'm floating above it all, watching the scene unfold again, but this time goosebumps spread across my skin as Tank's voice whispers in my ears.

"_It turns me on," he breathes, pushing closer so I can feel how turned on he is against me. "Little Girl…"_

I awake with a muffled scream, sitting up suddenly and blinking rapidly to adjust my eyes to the darkened room. I automatically reach for the .38 I keep near my pillow, and my panic increases as my fingers grab only air.

"Babe," I hear, and I automatically still, my eyes locking onto Ranger's concerned but reassuring expression. "You're safe."

_Safe,_ I think. I'm _safe._ Maybe.

I sit rigidly, refusing to fall apart again. I'm not really safe, but I have Ranger, and he has me. It's about as safe as I can get.

Ranger gently places a hand on the outside of either shoulder and the warm strength of his grip feels as though he is pushing the glue I need to hold myself together throughout my body. "Breathe, Babe," Ranger says quietly, his eyes locked on my huge and unblinking ones.

I force myself to become more animated, and I take several long, shaky breaths. It isn't until Ranger places a blanket around my shoulders that I realize I'm trembling.

And then I don't know what to do. If I were at home, I'd have a shot of tequila and likely give up on sleeping for the rest of the night. I've never woken from a nightmare and had someone simply be there for me. Ranger isn't peppering me with questions or demanding answers from me to fix it. He's just here.

_Could this be what real love is?_

In the stillness rendered by the passing storm my subconscious generates nightly, my usual disquiet is being displaced by a faint fresh faith in the hope of a deepening, maturing love between Ranger and me. Perhaps it's a love that's always been there, but it never had a chance to flourish. That's what I want to believe, and my heart clenches at the thought of what could happen to it if I'm wrong. Again.

I'm not really safe, I'm only beginning to be okay, but looking into Ranger's endless eyes, I'm clinging to the tenuous notion that I am loved. Ranger places his hands over my joined ones, and I twist my fingers so that I am gripping his tightly, nodding my head yes as I do to silently accept that I'm safe enough.

In timeless seconds, our bodies synch together in breath and posture, and my trembling stills as the goosebumps that followed me from sleep to wakefulness hide under smooth flesh again. I move first, leaning forward so that my forehead rests just under Ranger's chin. I sigh as his smell overtakes my senses, and I relax further against him as he wraps those wonderfully secure arms around my body.

"Babe," Ranger sighs, his own posture relaxing. "I love you," and it was exactly what I needed to hear and everything I can't say in return.

I pull back suddenly and scoot back so that I am more sitting than laying, pulling the blanket tightly around me. As I look around, I feel acutely aware of the distinct lack of privacy I have right now, and how very dependent I am on everyone around me. I'm rewriting my history, and I'm doing it on a public stage. Saturday can't come soon enough. But then, where will I go?

I draw my uninjured knee up under my chin, avoiding Ranger's gaze. When I've been in danger, or, if I'm honest with myself, had excess lust and longing, I've used Ranger's penthouse on seven as my haven. I can't do that this time. I won't do it under these circumstances. My heart simply isn't ready to risk it. I have to be strong enough in myself first to be able to survive any potential negative fallout.

Ranger rests his hand on my foot and gives it a tender squeeze. I sigh and shift my line of sight to match his. "I will give up my current apartment," I start heavily, and Ranger cocks his head slightly to the side as I catch him off-guard by the abrupt change in topic. "I understand it isn't as invisible as I wanted it to be, and there's a very good chance Tank will find it given that Hector, Lester, and you have. Further, Hector showed me the photos of the mold, and I value my health more than my space," I say affirmatively as Ranger patiently listens to everything. "Ella came by earlier and offered me an apartment on four," I continue, pausing as the next words get stuck in my throat. Swallowing hard, I quietly spit out, "I'll take it," before breaking eye contact, looking down at the space of sheeting between us.

"You're welcome on seven, Babe. I converted my office to a place for Julie to stay when she visits. It can be yours if that makes things easier," Ranger counters.

"It won't," I say in a near whisper. "I can't. I'm not ready to go from where I was at on Monday to living with you on Saturday. It's too much change too fast."

Ranger reaches over and gently places a hand under my chin to redirect my gaze. I purse my lips into a thin line as I take in his serious expression. "I'm not pressuring you. Your home is your choice, and I'm happy you've decided to live here. I agree that we need to take things slowly between us to give our relationship a solid foundation. I only want to offer you everything at my disposal to help you heal, knowing that as you do, we will grow," Ranger says, giving more than I expected.

"Thank you," I respond with a small measure of relief. "I agree to live here, but I have some conditions. Firstly, if I'm living in this building, I can't feel like I'm Rangeman property. No one hides a tracker anywhere on my vehicle, property, or possessions without my knowledge. You must have my explicit consent, and even then, I want to know what level of tracking we are talking about. Secondly, I want a fob with the ability to scramble the cameras. I won't abuse it, but I want to be able to move about the building with some degree of anonymity at my discretion. Thirdly, I want to be charged the same as any other person living in a Rangeman apartment, and any upgrades or modifications done to my space will be extended equally to anyone else living in the building. I know Ella likes to indulge me. Do we agree?"

I see Ranger's eyes flash at the third condition, and I brace myself for the coming negotiation. "Yes, to the first condition, but there will be some level of tracking, even if it is only at the same level as the arrangement Hector and you currently have. However, I'd like to have access to your tracking data, and I'm willing to reciprocate the same. Yes, to the second condition. No, to the third.

"In the same way that you need independence, Babe, I need to be able to take care of you. Giving to you, whether it was cars, training, medical care, my home, anything, has always been my quiet way of saying I love you. I said the shitty things I did to you, like you being entertainment in the budget, because I was too wrapped up in myself and my commitment issues, to be honest. I was wrong, and I'm sorry. The reality is that I've loved you since you called me after Morelli handcuffed you to the shower curtain rod. If I take your money, I will feel like I've lost that part of my life. Please, Babe, let me give this to you," Ranger says, and my heart clenches at this declaration.

I look down again, trying to absorb the words I've wanted to hear for years. I want to believe Ranger, and I think I do, but… There's always been a_ but_ in my life. I love you, but. I know I need to talk to Ranger, say some of these things, but I also know the answer. He'll be reassuring, placating, and positive, and none of that will make a difference right now. I'm not ready for this conversation. Not here, not now. If I say no to Ranger's request, it will only press the issue and force the bigger issues I don't want to address yet. I have to choose the lesser of two evils.

"Agreed," I say, glancing back in Ranger's direction, and I catch a flicker of relief that crosses his expression. "Since we're making decisions, I have another request," I say determinedly, and Ranger raises his eyebrow in response.

"I would like to have access to the background reports Hector was reviewing today. I might have a different perspective, and at a minimum, it would make me feel more useful than laying here. I understand you may be concerned about how I might react to reading some of the information, but I'm going to have to process it at some point. I'd rather risk being upset than having someone I love be hurt when I could have made a connection or had an insight that would have saved them," I state emphatically.

I see a look of surprise in Ranger's eyes, and I realize it's because I'm asking and not demanding or sneaking. Score one point for maturity. "Okay, Babe," he says eventually, "but I also have a condition. I want a member of the Core Team with you while you review the reports, and if you begin to have a hard time, you stop. Period. You do need to rest and heal, and you are important."

"Agreed," I say, letting out a small sigh as I realized I'd braced myself for an argument that never came. I appreciate the easy give and take of these negotiations; the Burg-Italian way of negotiating can be exhausting and time-consuming, physical and loud.

"One more request," I say, taking a deep breath. "Try as I might, I can't shake Tank's voicemail. I'm afraid his threats aren't idle, and I think we both know he may be unstable. For my sanity, I need my family and friends to be safe. The safe houses are compromised, and I doubt they would work anyway with my family. However, I think I figured out a way around that. I have more money tucked away in my apartment. Hector can retrieve it. Rangeman can make it look like my family won an extended cruise, to include Val and her brood as well as Mary Lou's family. Eddie can be briefed, and if he wants Shirley and the kids to go with, so be it. Get them out of the Burg as soon as possible. Even if word gets back to Tank where they are, I doubt he would put in the expense and energy to get to them at sea. It will also make it easier for us to flush him out, should that need arise, if there are fewer targets."

Ranger assumes a thoughtful expression. "That's a good idea, Babe," he muses, "But you don't need to spend your money on this," he says, stopping to place his hands on mine when he sees me tense up. "Rangeman has funds set aside for operations like this. If you use your money, it's the same to me as you saying this is your fault. It's not your fault, it's Tank's, and possibly somewhat mine for not realizing who he really was when we went into business together. Regardless, Rangeman has money to protect civilians should it be called for. I can even use the Rangeman private jet to transport them to cruise ship terminal. They will embark in Miami, and I'll have several men stationed undercover aboard the cruise from that branch, just in case," Ranger continues, thinking out loud.

I know his words are meant to make me feel better, but my heart sinks. It's more that I'll owe him. I only just wiped the slate clean, and I'll already be in his debt again unless he lets me pay. Ranger senses my mood shift and goes silent, scooting slightly closer to me.

"What is bothering you, Babe?" he asks quietly, holding my fingers more tightly.

"I'm uncomfortable letting you pay," I say finally. "I don't want to be in your debt, and I'm a contract employee, not a salaried Rangeman employee. I don't deserve any of those benefits." I begin to chew my lower lip as I anxiously wait for Ranger to reply.

"Babe, there's no price for what we do for each other. None. I know that if our situations were reversed, because they were with Scrog, for example, you would do everything you could, including risking your life, to keep my family safe," he says with unexpected tenderness. "Also, you are a full-time Rangeman employee. More so, you are now a member of the Core Team of this company as is Hector. It's up to you if you want to be a silent partner or an active member. If you choose to be an active member, you'll receive a salary in addition to the annual payouts. There's no pressure. When you're ready, I'll have Pete go over the contracts in detail. I wasn't able to tell you before because of how much that has happened in the last two days."

"Woah," I say as I feel my breath go out in a whoosh as my heart begins to pound. "I'm a Core Team member? I own part of Rangeman? But I gave _you_ that money. I mean, I never expected," I sputter, my eyebrows furrowed incredulously.

"You deserve it, Babe. You are an amazing person, and you have more talents than you realize. Rangeman is lucky to have you, not the other way around," Ranger says, giving me a blinding, thousand-watt smile.

"Wow," I say again, words utterly failing me. "I'm a Core Team member? Really? Me?"

"Really," Ranger says affirmatively, and my heart soars. I'm a Core Team member. I'm a Core Team member! I own part of Rangeman? Holy cow. I'm… no fucking way. Ranger doesn't just say he believes in me; he has put his (my?) money where his mouth is. I blink several times to process this moment with a dumb, shocked look on my face.

"Holy surprise, Batman," I mumble, my eyes wide. I feel tingly with joy that doesn't know how to manifest itself, but that joy is mixed equally with the fear of failing. I worked hard this past year to train, increase my skills, and I definitely put blood, sweat, and brains into every skip I caught and thus every dollar I earned for my apparent buy-in. I also happen to be lucky enough to have a couple of people who see me better than I see myself sometimes. As a result, I have the opportunity to be lifted up, and it's up to me to be worthy.

"Thank you," I finally say, my stunned expression highlighting the twinkle in Ranger's eyes.

"Babe," he says, never breaking his smile as he leans forward to place a lingering kiss on my forehead. "_Querida, te quiero_," he says, pulling me closer to him. "_Siempre_, always."

* * *

**A/N: **I offer heartfelt apologies to everyone for breaking your faith with my stated update schedule. Things unexpectedly happened at the beginning of May that prevented me from being able to write for more than a month. Nothing very negative occurred, but my time was no longer my own. I wish I could have told you ahead of time, and FanFiction rules do not allow for the posting of only author's note chapters.

I have written and Misty23y has edited through Chapter 24. Chapters 25 and 26, as well as the epilogue, are heavily outlined. However, I am preparing for a multi-country six-week vacation that will again limit my time – in all the best ways. I will have my computer with me, and I hope to be able to work through those chapters. I will post as I am able and have access to wi-fi. You WILL see the end of this story. It's too important to me not to finish.

I feel badly I was unable to stick to a regular posting schedule. I'm starting law school this fall (huge life dream of mine – yay!). I have _Lift Off _outlined, and I will continue to write as I find it therapeutic and relaxing. However, I intend to have that story fully or nearly fully written before I begin to post it. Please consider following me as an author for notifications.

Misty23y and Meylons – I'm grateful you've shared your time and talents with me. You have both reached out and encouraged me in my writing when I went comms silent. Thank you for being such a positive part of my writing journey.

To everyone who left me a PM or message or simply kept the faith – You guys are the best. Thank you for caring about me and this story. I feel so fortunate to write in such a warm and heartening fandom.


	22. Chapter 22

**Disclaimer:** Anything recognizable belongs to Janet Evanovich, and the rest is mine. I'm grateful she lets us play.

**Warning:** Dark fic. Adult language, adult content, violence, smut. This is written for mature audiences only.

* * *

**Chapter 22**

**Stephanie's POV**

My chest feels tight as I continue to experience a roller coaster of emotions, and I close my eyes as Ranger's warmth, smell, and words embrace me like a cocoon. When I lean back to rest against my pillows once again, I'm more relaxed and a closed-lipped smile remains on my face.

"What have you been doing today? What was everyone's reaction to your speech this morning?" I ask, breaking the comfortable silence between us. Ranger kisses my head, which I'm beginning to understand is his way of preparing himself to open up to me while he organizes his words, and then he begins to speak. His conversation flows, and the candid way he is sharing his relief, frustration, and anger is more telling to me than any kiss or vow declaring his intentions ever could. These are the moments where trust is built, I realize, and Ranger is worthy of my trust and love.

"Only two Merry Men are leaving?" I interrupt. "That's amazing!"

"Yes, and they are two of Tank's newest hires. I think it's probably for the best regardless, but I'll give them a fair exit interview and letter of recommendation at the end of their two weeks' notice," Ranger concurs before continuing. "I had a meeting with Joe Juniak about everything that happened since I've been away."

I nod thoughtfully before saying, "I'm glad you spoke with Joe. I think he loves me more than my family does, but with his schedule, it's been harder and harder for us to connect. I need to make more of an effort to foster that relationship."

"He's a good man, Babe," he affirms, kissing my head again before shifting to relaying his meeting with Chief Feldman. My thoughts become more serious as he recounts the tense encounter.

"I'm not the best bounty hunter in Trenton, though it's nice of him to say so," I reply without any self-deprecation in my tone.

"Babe," Ranger starts but then stops, something in my manner causing him to shift to scrutinize me more carefully.

"I'm not selling myself, short, really," I begin to continue. "I'm way better than when you left, but I also operated alone and with little regard for my personal well-being. There were times when I would stand in the aftermath of a sketchy takedown, desperately working to avoid feeling the regret, fear, or even adrenaline, and you, or rather the lessons you tried to impart to me, would come to the forefront of my thoughts. Mostly, I knew you would never want me out there without a team or back-up, and even with a team, I knew that some of the things I did would be dangerous even for you. By the grace of God, I didn't kill anyone else after Farro, but I certainly spilled my share of blood. There shouldn't be anyone who knows my reputation that thinks I'll hesitate to shoot them anymore. I don't think those things make me a good bounty hunter. Effective, perhaps, and I'm sure the Chief appreciates my effectiveness, but it doesn't mean I'm the best in Trenton. That honor should go to Lester. I know he put himself at risk to be my silent partner in the shadows this past year. Without him and Hector, I would probably be dead," I confess pragmatically, letting out a puff of air in chagrined regret.

Ranger moves forward so that we are facing each other so closely that his breath blows the fine flyaway hairs that frame my face, his expression serious. Before I can blink, he tightly wraps both arms around me as though he were afraid that I would disappear if he didn't hold on. Before speaking again, he releases me enough that I can see the intensity of his words. "Then I'll give a prayer of thanks every day that you did survive so that we could be together," Ranger says, his brown eyes rolling with sadness, fear perhaps, though I find it hard to believe Ranger is afraid of anything, and relief.

"I'm relieved that you no longer want to work alone, _Querida_. My experiences have left me with the ability to picture the types of takedowns you are alluding to easily, and I want you to know, you never have to hide how you feel about those experiences from me. It's important to have people in your life you can talk to about those events, to process, validate, and debrief. I have after every mission, sometimes with a Senior Officer or Lester or a Chaplain or a therapist, and I credit that support as a way I maintained my mental health throughout my career and life. I will never judge you, remember that," he explains with such sincerity that it leaves me breathless.

I nod my head several times before finding my voice. "Okay. I will. Not now, but someday, a little at a time, I will try to open up to you. I am committed to seeing the therapist Bobby sets up for me on Monday," I say with a voice cracked from emotions lodged in my throat. "What did you do after TPD?" I question, wanting to move on from this charged moment.

Ranger isn't dissuaded. "Thank you, Babe. I'll be ready to listen whenever you're ready to share," he says assuredly before tilting his chin up to kiss my forehead. He relaxes his hold further without moving away and continues his story, recounting his visit to the Bond's office.

I laugh sardonically when Ranger tells me that Vinnie peed himself in fear. "Good. He deserves far worse!" I spit out, sobering up quickly when Ranger tells me how much money my cousin made off of my pain this year. "Far worse," I muttered, clenching my jaw.

"I received a text from Connie a few minutes later asking me to meet her at one of Harry's safehouses," Ranger states, massaging some of the tension from my shoulders.

"Connie? What did she want?" I question in surprise.

"Connie wants to give you a message. She says that she's sorry and that she's been a bad friend," Ranger starts, and my jaw drops in astonishment. "Connie informed us that she has put up with Vinnie and working at the Bonds Office as long as she has because she was being blackmailed. Connie is bisexual, and Lucille is her lover. Lester and me visiting Vinnie today connected a few dots for her, and she snooped in Vinnie's office to give us the evidence we need against him. Vinnie kept a ledger about all the payments Tank paid him as a means of keeping track of the resolution of his debts. The ledger also shows payments Vinnie made to Lula," Ranger states straightforwardly.

"Lula?" I interrupt quietly, and Ranger continues after a short pause.

"Connie determined that Lula was tipping off your skips that you were coming after them to increase the chances that you would be injured. She did it as a way of showing loyalty to Tank, but also to increase the blackmail payout Vinnie gave her to ensure her silence. Connie additionally gave us a flash drive with all of the phone calls and messages from Vinnie's phone over the past six months. She bugged it when she grew suspicious about what was going on in the office," Ranger finishes, falling silent as he waits for my response.

It's another betrayal. In my self-imposed isolation, I had still regarded Lula as a friend. I honestly hadn't considered the idea that she would actively seek me harm. I did wonder once or twice how she continued to support her lifestyle when I stopped taking her out as my partner but dismissed the thoughts just as quickly as they came. Lula was a hustler who knew the streets. Ultimately, Lula hustled Tank, Vinnie, and me for her gain.

"_Querida?_" Ranger says softly, and I flick my downward gaze up to look at him. I can feel my cheeks flush with emotion, but otherwise, I've reacted very little.

"I didn't know," I reply simply, pressing my lips together. Ranger continues to look at me. "It makes sense. I see it now. I," and I stop, too choked up to continue. I take a deep, steadying breath. "I know it's okay to cry, but frankly, I don't want to give Lula the satisfaction even if she would never know. Give me a second, and I'll be fine. I might fall apart later, and I also know you'll be there for me, but this is not that time," I say, feeling more in control with every word.

I rest my head against the pillow and interlace Ranger's fingers with mine. It's going to be okay.

"So, Connie and Lucille, huh. Well, that explains why Connie never married even though she's full Italian Mob-connected Burg," I state.

"Connie revealed that she and Lucille have plans to run away to Florida together, and Lucille is going to divorce Vinnie," Ranger divulges.

"The scandal!" I say, a smile playing at the corner of my lips.

"This leads me to a request I have for you," Ranger says mildly, but I catch the seriousness on his expression, and I sit up straighter. "Tank, Vinnie, Lula, and even Connie's actions against you this past year are criminal. Each time you were injured or could have been injured is a conspiracy charge for assault, attempted murder, etcetera, among other things. We're continuing to gather evidence so that Pete can present the case to the TPD. I am asking that you consider pressing charges against at least Tank, Vinnie, and Lula. Connie is at your discretion, especially since she is helping to build our case and may be willing to testify on your behalf should it come to that," Ranger explains heavily, and I feel the burden he has at asking me to have his former best friend incarcerated.

I sit silently, absorbing the words. Ranger continues to press his case. "It's your decision, Stephanie, but," he says, and I cut him off.

"Yes," I state firmly, and Ranger's eyebrows lift slightly. "I'm not the person who makes excuses for everyone anymore, Ranger. I've changed a lot this past year. Not all of it was for the better, but one thing I have done much better is set healthier boundaries for myself with others. I'm not a doormat. What they did was wrong, but I never thought I could do anything about it. Frankly, it's a relief to know I can stand up for myself and take this step. Yes."

"I'm proud of you, Babe," Ranger says, his eyes shining with that pride, and he gently kisses me. The pressing of his lips to mine and the way he wraps his fingers around my shoulders says he's pulling as much comfort from me as he is giving me his love. It's a tender reminder that he's hurting from everything that's happened as well.

"You're a good man, Ranger. Thank you for everything," I say, searching his eyes when he pulls back.

"_Te quiero_," he whispers back.

An opening and closing of a door in the next room signify the end of our moment, and Ranger gives my hand a squeeze before sliding off the bed walking across the room. I use the minute of privacy to close my eyes and center myself. I have no regrets or hesitations about pressing charges. I should have pressed charges against any number of people who had harmed or assaulted me, beginning with Morelli when I was sixteen. The choices of others are not my fault, and that is liberating.

I push the blanket down, feeling sticky. "Hello, Stephanie," Alex says, coming up beside me, and I surmise that means it's around 8 pm. "How about we do those vitals so we can send Bobby off to bed?" she bustles, sticking the thermometer under my tongue and activating the blood pressure cuff before taking a look at my knee while she waited for the instruments to return a readout.

"The redness has gone down quite a bit. That's good," Alex reports cheerfully, reaching for the thermometer. "98.9F. Great! Let's hope it stays that way. How are you feeling?"

"Like I want the bathroom, a shower, and dinner?" I respond, giving her a smile in return.

"How about the bathroom, a warm washcloth and dry shampoo, clean clothes, and dinner? If you keep doing well, you'll have a lot more independence tomorrow," Alex fires back with a dimpled grin, and I offer her my hand to shake on it.

"Good night, Steph. I'm glad you're feeling a little better," I hear from behind me. I turn to see Bobby getting ready to depart, but when he leaves, his last look is at Alex, not me. Interesting.

"Good night," I say before the door closes, and Ranger materializes beside me as I begin to shift my legs around to stand. "I'll be able to walk if you offer me your arm," I state determinedly. I want to get out of this room on Saturday morning, and this is the best way to prove myself capable.

My legs are stiff from disuse, my knee is sore from the infection, and my balance is off from the medications, but I make steady progress to the restroom. Good for me. Alex brings a basket of my personal products with me, and between standing at the sink and sitting on the closed toilet seat, we make the most of the facilities available. When we reemerge into the main room, I'm wearing a new seafoam blue jammie set in the same cut, fresh panties, and I smell a lot better.

I catch Ranger's eyes doing a rapid scan of my refreshed figure, and I blush slightly. Dinner is waiting on the bedside table, and I marvel at Rangeman's efficiency. Settled into the bed, I feel ravenous, and I eagerly take a bite of the lobster mac and cheese. I close my eyes as I savor the cheesy deliciousness, and when I open them again, Ranger's expression looks both amused and strained.

"I couldn't have said it better myself," Alex laughs. "That's some of the best lobster mac I ever had. You could list Ella as a perk of employment."

"Ella must like you, too!" I reply through my own laughter.

I listen to Alex and Ranger exchange information about overseas bases they've both visited, and I'm happy to observe Ranger's pleased assessment of Alex as she shares details of her service. I finish my apple slices and push the tray away, stuffed to the gills and yawning.

Alex quickly does a departing round of vitals, clearly pleased with the numbers, and dims the light as she departs the room.

"I don't know how I can sleep so much, but I can't keep my eyes open," I mumble while Ranger slides in beside me, already in sweatpants and a t-shirt.

"Sleep tight, Babe. I love you," he replies, and I sigh, out like a light.

* * *

**A/N: **Greetings from Germany! I've had the best summer taking in the sites of London, Amsterdam, Brussels, Bruges, Normandy, Paris (including Disneyland!), and now Germany. I'll be traveling another couple of weeks, but now that my wi-fi is a bit more reliable, I should (fingers crossed!) be able to get the next couple of chapters out more quickly.

Misty23y and Meylons are two wonderful women who have helped me so much with _Warrior_ and my writing in general. I'm so grateful for your friendship, encouragement, guidance, and time.

For all of the incredible feedback I've received, please know how much I pour over each review and comment. You really help shape the story more than you know. I hope all of you having a warm and wonderful July.

Thank you as well for your warm wishes regarding law school. I began writing on FanFiction as a way to brush off my dusty keyboard in preps for the LSAT and ending up finding a new passion in the process. In a way, each you have played a role in helping me reach my dreams.


	23. Chapter 23

**Disclaimer:** Anything recognizable belongs to Janet Evanovich, and the rest is mine. I'm grateful she lets us play.

**Warning:** Dark fic. Adult language, adult content, violence, smut. This is written for mature audiences only.

* * *

**Chapter 23**

**Tank's POV **

I shake myself out of my stupor as I tried to determine if the banging sound I heard was in my head or from somewhere else. Door. It's the door.

I grab my 9mm from the side table and hold it loosely in my hand as I stride to the door wearing only my black Adidas track pants. I quickly move through my darkened home and peak through the edge of a front-facing side window, sigh heavily and place my weapon in the small of my back as I yank the front door open.

"Tankie!" Lula croons, brushing past me. "What happened? You look terrible!" She places her hands on my forearms before placing one on my chest, batting her eyes at me with mock concern.

Lula is wearing a bright red bandage dress with matching hair and heels, the look finished with gold eyeshadow, lips and chunky jewelry. It's blinding, but she might also be the distraction I need right now. And the way Lula spreads gossip…

"Hi, Baby," I sigh, looking aggrieved before leaning down to give her a kiss. "Would you mind making this a stay in date? You're right; I've had a terrible day. I need my woman to take care of me."

Lula's eyes flash in annoyance for a moment, and I know she was hoping to be seen hanging on my arm around town. At first, I thought that Lula wasn't interested in me, per se, but in my perceived lifestyle. She gets reputation and gifts from me; I have my itches scratched on demand. However, this thing we have between us has turned into my longest lasting relationship, and I've become fond of the bitch. I like her brand of crazy. She's a freak who's not afraid to show it, and I get to reap the benefits. Lula may be a 'ho, but she's my 'ho.

"I'll make it up to you, Baby," I say. "You look too gorgeous not to show off." I leer at her with unabashed interest, my hands moving to her ample backside, and she huffs before looking mollified.

I step back to allow her to pass and settle back down on the couch, turning the TV to mute as Lula settles on her knees between my legs. "That's it, Sugar," I groan as she pulls my dick out. "Daddy needs some attention."

"What's going on, Tankie?" Lula asks before spitting on the head of my cock and pumping her fist up and down. The woman gives head like a pro she is. Worth every penny, had I been paying, and in this case, I'll be able to not only get a blow job for free, but I'll be able to put her mouth to work again later.

"It's Stephanie," I start heavily, looking put out. "She is poisoning Ranger's mind against me. I hate to get between a man and his woman, but he doesn't know what she's like anymore."

"Fucking bitch," Lula affirms.

"It's Ranger's lack of loyalty that bothers me the most. I never thought I'd have to go into business against my brother, but he chose his 'ho," I state. Most women require me to put my hands on their heads to force their mouths to take my entire length. Not Lula. I rest my head back as she continues to work.

"I don't see how I have a choice, though it pains me to know Trenton and my men are going to be left with Stephanie's shoot first ask questions later approach to security. Ranger doesn't know and won't listen to how fucked up in the head that bitch is. I think we need to spread the word," I state, groaning as Lula sucks my balls.

"Then we just have to tell everyone," Lula immediately responds. "It's a fucking public service announcement."

"Baby, you've been so good to me this year. I'll never doubt your loyalty. Maybe if I could just talk to her, reason with her, but I don't think it's a good idea if I go by the Bonds Office right now," I shrug, trailing off.

"Steph's been in hiding the past couple of days, but she does that. Don't worry. I can always flush out a roach. A little light and they scatter," Lula croons. "I'll always take care of my Tankie because you'll always take care of me. Now, cum for me and release some of that tension."

I shoot my wad into the back of Lula's fat mouth and smile. Ranger took the most important thing from me, and tit for tat is only fair.

**Cal's POV**

"Hey, man!" Hal exclaims, greeting Binky and I at the Trenton airport baggage claim with a complicated fist bump. "How was Boston?"

"Alright," I smile, "But Jersey's better."

We're halfway back to Rangeman in a black Ford Explorer before Binky can't contain himself anymore. "We heard that Bomber's back. Is that true?" he asks hopefully.

"I don't know, man," Hal says somberly. "Three is secured to all personnel except the Core Team, and a medical temp Bobby brought in. Rumor has it that Bombshell was hurt trying to bring in a skip and is convalescing."

"Fuck, what happened?" I exclaim, and I listen in shock as Hal tells me about the impromptu takedown duty patrol did with Lester. Bomber's lucky she had a panic button on her, and I'm astonished she pushed it after what I saw secretly covering her six before Binky and I were forced out of town. I'm also surprised but relieved that Rangeman came to help her. More than Ranger's speech at the change of command or the contracts the attorney gave us, it tells me maybe things are changing for the better. God, I hope so. Rangeman under Tank sucked.

"This didn't come from me, but the scuttlebutt is that Tank arranged for Bombshell to be there that night. I'm not sure how, but it was after that incident that Ranger forced Tank out of the company. It sucks Bombshell got hurt, but I'm so glad that Tank's gone. Everything is so much better now, and even more so now that you two are back. All instructions and policies are reverted to how things were before Tank took over, and now there's a line of guys waiting to move back into the building. Don't worry; I made sure you're taken care of. Ranger retired from his government service, and now we don't have to worry about him leaving and everything going to shit again at a moment's notice," Hal enthusiastically says, his smile contagious. "I never thought I'd say this again, but I'm glad I work at Rangeman."

We park in the garage, throw our military-style duffle bags over our shoulders, and take the stairs two at a time to four. We pass Bomber Duty outside the stairwell on three, and Zip gives me a nod of acknowledgment and a faint smile as we go by. If things really are going back to the way they were, there will be more guys volunteering than watches to be filled.

Hal stops in front of two rooms, side by side, and hands us each a key fob. "Come up to five when you're ready. Welcome home," he says before striding down the hall.

Sometimes seeing is believing. I don't know how Ella did it, but the apartment is already absent of any traces of Tank's decorating policies. A tray with water, energy bars, and fruit is resting on the kitchen counter. A quick peek in the fridge shows it's stocked with all the things I used to frequently order, including a six-pack of Budweiser. I walk into the bedroom immediately relieved to see no sign of that grey piece of sandpaper Tank passed off like a blanket. In its place is a plush comforter set in navy blue, and I'm touched Ella remembered my favorite color. A fresh towel set is hanging in the bathroom.

I begin to unpack my bags, quickly stowing my gear. When I open my backpack, I pull out a framed photo of my family and proudly display it on my dresser. I make short order of settling in before returning to the kitchen. I'm about to bite into an apple when there's a knock on the door.

"Welcome home, Cal," Ella says warmly, stepping inside and embracing me in a grandmotherly hug when I release the door. "It's so good to see you."

"You too, Ella," I respond. "Thanks for preparing the old apartment for me. Everything looks great."

"You're welcome, and let me know if there's anything else you need. There's been a move-in allowance allocated to everyone, and I'm sure you'll know just what you want to do with that after a few days," Ella beams before departing again.

On five, the mood I'm instantly greeted with is like night and day as compared to my rapid departure several months ago. Binky steps beside me as I stand near the stairwell, taking everything in.

"Damn. I never thought it could be like this again," Binky mutters in astonishment. We see personal photos, cartoons, and unique calendars tacked to cubicle walls. I crane my neck, and I see multiple guys in the breakroom eating food that looks fit for human consumption. Most incredibly, there are occasional bouts of laughter.

We take a step forward, and Woody steps out from the area where the monitors are clustered together. "Hey, Cal, Binky! Welcome back!" he exclaims, pulling us both into a brief man hug. "Glad to see you survived the frozen north." At the sound of his greeting, the rest of the team begins to emerge, and soon Binky and I have been shuffled among everyone. And while all of this was happening, no one got yelled at for not working or being too loud or was threatened with extra PT.

"I'm glad you're back in Trenton," Lester says, coming out of his office and shaking our hands. "Ranger wants to have a word, and then I'll leave you to spend the rest of the day getting settled."

I nervously follow Lester towards Ranger's office, pausing outside of eyeshot to make sure my uniform is in order. When Binky and I enter, we unconsciously march in step, our posture a little straighter, and we stop side by side at attention in front of Ranger's desk.

"At ease," Ranger says immediately, moving to stand directly in front of us before offering each of us his hand. After shaking it, the man I look up to more than my father gives me the shock of my life by saying, "I owe you a debt of gratitude I can never repay. It takes a great deal of courage to stand up for what is right despite rank or familiarity and you did, protecting this company and everyone who works for it. Thank you, and I'm humbled and proud to have you back in Trenton."

"Just doing our job, Sir," I respond, too stunned to form anything better.

"You did more than that, and in addition to the terms we discussed yesterday, I'm promoting you both. Lester has the details of your new positions," Ranger states, and my eyes open slightly as I work to keep my expression professional.

"Thank you, Sir," Binky says.

Ranger gives the nod, and, miraculously containing my whoop of excitement, we step back into the hallway.

"Congratulations," Lester says, stopping in front of two of the larger cubicles in the corner. "Here are your new workspaces."

Binky and I exchange grins. It is good to be back.

**Stephanie's POV**

My body's physical needs wake me a little before six. Ranger, while being careful not to put any pressure on my still sore body, has his arm draped and thoroughly entangled around me. I'm just about to attempt to disentangle myself from the warm and rock hard embrace when I hear him say, "Good morning, Babe."

"Morning, Ranger. Can you please help me up? I need the restroom." Ranger gets out of bed just before Alex walks in from Bobby's office to detach the IV line. I accept Ranger's assistance walking to the bathroom, but I lean on him as little as possible. I breathe a deep sigh of relief when I close the door securely behind me, absolutely relishing in being alone for the first time since Sanchez. I take care of business quickly, not wanting anyone to interrupt my peace and possibly compromising it in the future. When I emerge, Ranger is standing right there to help me back to the bed, but I proudly walk, okay limp, the entire way

"Do you want to go back to sleep? It's still early yet," Ranger asks once I'm settled.

"No, I'm up. Besides, either Bobby or Alex will be in here in a few minutes to poke and prod me again," I reply, rolling my eyes.

As if on cue, I hear a knock on the door, watching as Bobby enters the room with Alex. "How are you feeling this morning?" Bobby asks.

"Better. Still stiff, but I feel rested," I say easily.

"That's good," Bobby replies as he takes my vitals. "Your temperature is still normal, 98.5, your blood pressure is stable, and your heart rate is trending normal. I think you are finally out of the woods. We are going to keep the port in your hand so that we can deliver the antibiotics through the saline lock, but I'll discontinue the fluids in order to provide you more mobility. However, I'll expect you to work at staying hydrated orally. Your body needs extra fluids as a part of your recovery. I'm also going to wean you off the heavier pain killers, which will have you feeling less dizzy and more alert. You still need to take it easy, but I want you out of bed today. You need to be in a chair and walking around every two hours. If you are tired, you can take a nap, but we need to get you back to a normal routine."

"That sounds doable," I answer.

"Are you hungry? I can have Ella bring you your breakfast now. It's likely your stomach is still tender given all the medication we've given you, but I suggest that you have something full of protein to get your body moving again, possibly an omelet with ham, cheese and veggies, toast and fruit. How does that sound to you?" Bobby suggests.

With the description of breakfast, my stomach growls. "I guess that means that I'm okay with that menu," I reply, and I see Ranger's lips twitch from the corner of my eyes. Bobby and Alex leave the room, and Ranger helps me sit at a small table in the corner of the room.

"Do you want a pillow?" he asks thoughtfully. It feels good to change positions and move my stiff limbs.

"No, I'm good." I pause before asking what I want to know. "Now that I'm ordered to be up, can I start reviewing the background checks? I'm feeling a lot better than I did on Wednesday. Frankly, I'm starting to go stir crazy, and I'm trying to be a good patient. I can't stare at these four walls any longer, Ranger."

I watch Ranger's internal dialogue take place in his eyes. I've learned that if I want to read Ranger, I need to focus on his eyes. He finally sighs, then responds, "There is a big part of me that wants to protect you, protect you from getting hurt, from getting worn down, from getting angry, but I know that you are a strong woman, and you need to be part of this. Babe, I want to be here with you when you look at the research, and if I have to step out, Hector will be present instead. I'm planning on spending most of my day beside you doing my work from my laptop, but I want to, no, I need to be here if you have any problems. You are not one hundred percent, and I'd hate to see you relapse on my watch."

Part of me still wants to fight with him on principle. I don't need a babysitter. I am strong; I am capable. But the other side of me is thrilled that Ranger wants to be with me still, even with everything I have done. So, I decide to say, "Thank you, Ranger."

"I know that if there is anything to be found, Babe, that you are the only one who will and who can find it. I believe in you, Stephanie, and I love you." Ranger says these words with so much confidence it makes my heart skip a beat.

There's a knock on the door to save us from the mushy moment, as Ella announces herself, bring in our breakfast. I smell the food, suddenly feeling famished. As Ella is unloading her cart, she's playing mother hen.

"Stephanie, I gave you some aqua blue and lilac throw pillows, towels, and blankets in your apartment on four. Most of the men want drab colors like navy blue, grey, white, or black, so being able to buy color is fun. I can order you some clothes if you need, just tell me what you'd like, or if you want, I can come back after lunch, and we can shop together online. I know some sites where I can get really good deals on good quality clothing. Plus, I'm a member of every coupon site there is," Ella says.

I feel a little overwhelmed that Ella is going out of her way for me but giving me choices while understanding my need to be independent. I'm also glad that she's willing to help me shop just as much as she's willing to shop for me. It makes my decision easier.

"Ella, I'd love to shop online with you this afternoon. Whenever you're ready, come on down. I'm not going anywhere," I say with more enthusiasm than I've felt in a long time.

Ella turns and leaves, while Ranger and I dig in. I eat more of this meal than I have any other meal but still leave a quarter of it behind. Baby step, Steph, baby steps.

After breakfast, Alex returns without my asking to help me shower and dress. I'm still not comfortable with Ranger helping me yet, but I feel like I've known Alex for years. I'm no longer shy about sharing my bathroom space with Alex. She respects my privacy while keeping me safe, and her continual stream of lighthearted banter makes me smile. I find that I can be more honest with her than I can be to anyone else. I confess to her that my pain is greater than I'm telling Ranger, but not to the extent that it was two days ago. Alex doesn't judge but gets me some Motrin and advises me to ice the knee because it's still swollen. I think the fact that Alex just met me is making it easier to trust her, for she has never hurt me before. Our friendship is a clean slate.

Back in the bed with the ice pack in place, Hector brings me a laptop and shows me where all the background reports, evidence gathered, legal documents, and miscellaneous files are stored. It's more than I expected, and I'm humbled and appreciative of everyone's faith in me. And then I get to work.

Several hours, two walks around the room, and lunch later, I'm continuing to work but with far less optimism and my mood has soured. Twenty-four hours. Twenty-four hours until I'll be released from this room I silently repeat as a grim mantra. It's midday on Friday, and as further confirmation that I must be feeling better, the confinement of Medical, no matter how much for my own good it is, is beginning to get under my skin. If it weren't for the port in my hand to deliver the medication and how much my sudden disappearance would worry everyone who's worked so hard to help me the last couple of days, I would be feeling a lot less inclined to stick around.

I set my lips firmly and return to studying the reports on the laptop Hector provided me, more grateful than ever for the useful distraction. I've been reading document after document for the past three hours, and… nothing. Tank, Farro, Vinnie, Lula. Not a flicker of my old spidey sense.

I glance up as Ranger enters the room and approaches Hector. Ranger stepped out a couple of hours ago to go to his office, but I've made no effort at conversation with either man. They do the silent conversation thing the men in black are so good at, and Hector departs, a long look at me first, and I sigh.

I know Ranger ordered these background reports to make sure no proverbial stone is unturned, and perhaps there really is only dirt and worms to be found in these papers. Ranger described the evidence the Rangeman legal team uncovered against Tank in addition to the evidence Connie turned over yesterday. We have enough to pursue criminal charges against all three of them, and well, Farro is dead. I saw to that.

What are we looking for that we don't either already know or is useful to ensure the arrest of Tank, Vinnie, and Lula once the charges are filed? We have the evidence necessary. At this point, things are more or less a waiting game until the criminal justice trigger is pulled.

I let out a huff of air and lean back against the pillows, staring at the edge where the walls meet the ceiling and let my mind wander. The background reports are thorough and sometimes border on too much information. Family history, tax records, criminal background, deeds for vehicles and property, employment history, known aliases, and credit scores, among other things, are all easily compiled. What makes for a breakthrough report instead of a basic report is looking at that basic information and figuring out under which stone to dig deeper.

There are few things Grandma Mazur and my mom agree on, but one of them is the _Sound of Music_. They adore that movie, and I've watched it every Easter for my entire life. Most people would be surprised to know I have it completely memorized and am able to sing every song note for note. I close my eyes against the brightness of the overhead lighting, and Fraulein Maria's voice begins to play through my frustrated brain. _"Let's start at the very beginning, a very good place to start."_

The beginning. Everything started with Farro. After Farro, everything in my life fell apart pretty quickly. I had my falling out with Rangeman and then Tank began conspiring with Vinnie to ensure I was given skips above my paygrade. Somewhere along the way, Lula got in on the action with everyone profiting from my pain. From what I've heard, it was sometime after Farro that Tank began his Rangeman dictatorship.

I sit up and return to Farro's background report. I hate the use the term trailer trash, but this man fits every stereotype. He grew up in a mobile home park near Shreveport, Louisiana. His parents died of a drug overdose when Farro was in high school, and he dropped out after that. Looking at his criminal record, most offenses are drug-related, at least until he hit his 30s. After that, it seemed he was less inclined towards petty drugs and began drumming up violent offender charges. So, what brought him to New Jersey?

I've found that people do most things for money, love, safety, or a combination of all of the above. Sometimes it's greed, but sometimes it's charity; pursuing love or running from a broken heart; finding safety or throwing it all away. The actions are simple, but the reasoning is not. In Farro's case, his now widowed wife is from Trenton. Not wanting to linger on that painful subject, I switch over to Tank's report, going back to the beginning.

He was born in Louisiana, son to a Creole woman and African American father, who was also in the service. He has a couple of sisters, one of which has a restraining order against her ex-husband, who used to beat her and attempted to rape their daughter. Grew up in Shreveport. Parents died of a drug overdose. Moved to Miami to finish high school. _Damn_. I found a rock to overturn.

So I dig. Farro and Tank lived in different neighborhoods, but they attended the same middle school and high school, Farro a year ahead of Tank. But those schools are large, and there's nothing to link them. I take a step back and begin to look at the parents. In the 70s and 80s, white and black neighborhoods in Louisiana didn't overlap much. _Brown vs. The Board of Education_ may have desegregated the schools but not the communities. I can't find a connection beyond geography, and certainly nothing that ties these two unlikely men together. In frustration, I resume my previous thinking position.

Inspecting every millimeter of the ceiling joint, my mind again wanders to the unexpected, and I'm gripped by a flashback that plays in technicolor before my unfocused eyes that occurred about two months after the Farro incident.

_I still feel pretty raw about everything, but Hector had been subtly trying to convince me that perhaps things weren't exactly what I thought. I knew exactly what I had heard, but I also knew there was a history between Tank, Lester, Bobby, and me. Earlier that morning I picked up a file from Connie and after reading the charges, I heard that little voice I kept trying to squelch that said Ranger would never want me to go after this FTA on my own. I had gotten pretty used to ignoring that voice by that time, but after my second __unsuccessful attempt to nab Darius Parker, I decided to extend an olive branch to my former friends at Rangeman._

_Parker was accused of brutally beating a boy who was looking into the bedroom window of his sixteen-year-old daughter. Darius is no slump. He's 6'3", 240 pounds, former college linebacker for one of the big college teams. When I realized I was coming up against a brick wall in catching this guy, the little voice that said to ask for help got louder. I never considered asking Lula to by my partner. When I came back to tracing skips full time four weeks prior, Lula had assumed she would be riding shotgun. When I declined and proceeded to work solo, and after only an introductory training session from Hector, my success rate had skyrocketed. It was eye-opening to see how ineffective Lula was until I was free of the excess weight. Lula tried to girlfriend-guilt me into pairing up with her again, but I knew that was money speaking, not love, and I'd given her enough of my money._

_So, I spent the next twenty-four hours mustering every ounce of courage I possessed and drove to Rangeman, entering the underground garage for the first time since 'that day.' I take the stairs nervously to five, my blank face locked in place, where I hope to see Lester. But he's out on the job, so I am forced to talk to Tank. I don't know why, but since Farro, Tank makes my hairs stand up, and my skin crawl._

"_Stephanie, to what do I owe this pleasure?" Tank asks in the put-on voice of a gentleman._

_I push away my flight instinct, and respond, "Hi, Tank. I'm wondering if someone could help me with a skip. I'd give Rangeman fifty percent of the capture fee."_

_Tank leans back in this chair, his fingers forming a steeple under his chin while I continue to stand rigidly in front of him. His eyes bore into me as the seconds tick past. _

"_Who are you going after?" Tank finally asks._

"_Darius Parker," I respond quickly._

"_What did he do?" Tank inquires._

"_He beat a kid within an inch of his life for being a Peeping Tom," I say a little colder than I intended._

"_Who was he peeping on?" Tank presses, dragging out the interrogation with overly specific questions._

"_Parker's daughter," I state._

_Tank narrows his eyes before mumbling something about how sometimes the best justice is the one delivered by your own hands. "I can't say I blame the man," I hear clearly as he lapses back into forced silence. As I awkwardly stand there with growing trepidation, Tank picks up a file on his desk and begins looking it over. "Do you know what I was reviewing before you came over today?" Tank says after nearly a minute of agonizing silence. _

_I set my jaw and force my hands from curling into fists at my sides, completely irritated by this demonstration._

"_This is the expected Q1 income and expenditures report for Rangeman Trenton, and I must say, some things in here are frankly enlightening," Tank continues, and my stomach twists. "Initial reports showed business down but expenses increasing, especially for __entertainment__. Yet, accounting sent this revision to me saying expenses are below expectations. I must tell you, friend to friend, how relieved I am. With __entertainment__ costs increasing by a little more than three million dollars over three years and business slowing down, I was afraid I'd be turning over a floundering company to Ranger when he returns. That would break my heart. Rangeman is his life, legacy really." Tank pauses, and his face morphs from one of aggrieved pain to relief to professional detachment again. _

"_I appreciate the difficulty you've found yourself in, and I'm glad you stopped by today," Tanks states in the original gentlemen's tone. "It has been my burden these past few months to meticulously go through Rangeman's instructions and policies and rewrite them to align with a stricter fiscal policy. As such, this company no longer offers support services for contractors." Tank pauses, looking chagrined. "Unless you plan on going through the Rangeman hiring process, my hands are tied."_

_Tank then rises to his full height, towering over me, and I stand there willing my feet to take me away from this place again but not wanting to look cowed. He steps closer to me, and I feel the hair on the back of my neck stand up. "I understand that in the past, personal and professional lines have been blurred, and I think we both agree that ultimately hurt everyone in the end. Vinnie, not Rangeman, hired you to do this job, Little Girl. There are good reasons why Bounty Hunting is considered a man's job. From a professional to a contractor, I encourage you to take my advice and leave this job to the men you are asking to do it for you at a discount rate."_

_Tank places a meaty hand on my shoulder, and I consciously prevent myself from flinching at the touch. "I'm glad you stopped by today, Little Girl. I know you gave up your apartment, and Ranger would want you to know seven is available to your use. He likes it when you keep his bed warm. I'll be sure to keep you informed when Ranger makes his checkpoints, so you know when he'll be back. For a Jersey Girl, you've always had a classy side, and I'm sure you'll want to give him a," Tank stops a second, and I make the mistake of meeting his dark eyes, glittering with a flash of malice, "__romantic__ homecoming."_

_I immediately regret coming here and talking to Tank. At Tank's last words, my feet take flight of their own accord, and I roar out of the Rangeman garage with my olive branch left smoldering in the smog of my tailpipe behind me._

_I feel rejected and hurt like I did 'that day,' but also like that day, no tears come. I think it's because I'm also relieved. I was never comfortable with the money Ranger spent on my behalf, and now I know why. I'm the entertainment that is ruining Rangeman. No matter how I feel about everything else, I would never want to be responsible for damaging Ranger's life's work. I also have the confirmation I needed that my response to the guys after Farro was correct. They are not my friends, and, except for Hector, I am now alone. Tank's attitude today just affirms that the only reason why they were nice to me is that I was the Boss' toy. Well, never again will I be back here if I'm not welcomed._

A couple of days later Hector found me drunk, nursing stitches from a gunshot wound on my arm, and with several bruises all over my body. But in the end, I got my skip, and I made another contribution to the money I am saving to pay back Ranger.

I don't notice the tears silently streaming down my cheeks as I keep staring straight ahead until I hear Ranger's voice, "Babe, look at me. You're okay, you're fine. No one will hurt you. Babe, please look at me."

I glance at Ranger, pulling myself out of my memories, and I know my worldview has shifted.

"Tank was involved with Farro. That bastard set me up," I say furiously, quickly wiping my face dry with the back of my hand. Ranger rocks back on his heels in shock, before, looking intently in Ranger's eyes, I see whatever love Ranger still had in his heart for his former best friend die.

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**A/N: **This was a difficult chapter to write and one that went through more revisions than any other. Misty23y more than earned co-author credits on Steph's POV. She also listened to quite a bit of brainstorming and back and forth plot ideas as I figured out what I felt needed to happen to make sure my storylines came together the way I envisioned. Meylons corresponded with me several times to make sure I'm moving Steph's responses to medical care forward realistically. Thank you, guys!

I appreciate all the comments my last chapter received. I'm thrilled so many of you are still engaged with this story despite my erratic update pace. And yes, I am having a wonderful trip – thank you!


	24. Chapter 24

**Disclaimer:** Anything recognizable belongs to Janet Evanovich, and the rest is mine. I'm grateful she lets us play.

**Warning:** Dark fic. Adult language, adult content, violence, smut. This is written for mature audiences only.

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**Chapter 24**

**Stephanie's POV**

I know Ranger wants to offer me comfort, but I'm too single-mindedly focused on going through the research, finding that evidence I _know_ is there that will definitively link Tank and Farro to pause now. Further, I'm afraid that if I set aside my research for my feelings, Ranger will insist I stop, and I can't. I need to see this through. I feel Ranger's eyes on me as I turn back to the computer, and I'm relieved he doesn't push me into a conversation I'm not ready to have.

So I dig. I spend the rest of the afternoon into the early evening hours digging, comparing reports, initiating searches non-standard searches, and comparing what I find against existing evidence. My Spidey sense is in full alert, and I feel alive in my purpose. Watching the clock, I stand when required, walk when necessary, and take care of my human needs. And then oil erupts from the earth in a rapturous fountain, soaring hundreds of feet into the air.

I let out a hiss of air as a grim grin forms. Fuck me. Staring at the proof I sought, it's simple work to compile the remainder of the report, and I close the laptop with a heavy satisfaction as the smell of dinner captures my attention.

I look up, startled to see that Ranger, Hector, Lester, Bobby, Alex, and Ella are standing shoulder to shoulder, watching me with rapt attention. I attempt to quirk an eyebrow before locking eyes on Alex, who follows me as I walk unassisted to the restroom, eager to stretch and escape the scrutiny I wasn't previously aware I was under. Tomorrow and the privacy that will be afforded to me in my apartment on four can't come soon enough.

Alex raps lightly on the door, and I let her in before hobbling back over to the sink to wash my hands. "Damn girl," Alex says, leaning against the door. "When you are on a roll, it's mesmerizing. I've seen hounds give up on finding a bone more readily than you did going through all those documents. Have you always been able to work with such intensity?"

I let out a small, mirthless laugh as dry my hands on a towel. "Yeah, it's a blessing and a curse," I snort. I'm about to head back into the room when I stop, resting my forehead against the door. On the other side are well-intentioned friends who will inadvertently hurt me will their necessary questions. It's the unavoidable evil Ranger was afraid of in agreeing to let me review the data. I take a deep breath to steady myself against the approaching barrage of emotions, willing them to go back into the dark hole of denial I normally keep them.

Then I understand. That black hole is the numbness I used to survive the past year, but the strategy hurt me as much as it saved me. I wasn't ready to face my fears and insecurities, but maybe, under the understanding that these people are my true friends, I am now, at least a little.

"Are you doing okay, Steph?" Alex asks softly, and I know she is asking about more than my physical health.

"Tank was Ranger's best friend, and I believed him so easily," I confess in a small voice.

I hear Alex still behind me.

"I believed the lie. I believed I was the hateful one when in reality Tank hated me, and everything that's happened this last year all goes back to that hate. He hated me because I threatened everything that he believes about himself and what he values; he hated me for existing. I believed him, primed to do so by having lived a life, especially in the Burg, where I have always been wrong in the eyes of my friends and family, and I hated my existence," I state, and I watch as a silent salty drop drips off my nose and splatters in a minuscule puddle between my feet.

Alex steps closer to me but has the wisdom to wait.

"About a year ago, I killed a man. His name was Eric Farro. He was married though estranged from his wife, Amber and pre-teen daughter Stella. I've replayed the moment I shot him at least a thousand times awake and asleep, and I thought I knew everything there was to know. I was unqualified to go after this skip, and I shouldn't have been there. When Farro broke free from my ineffective restraints, he made it very clear he was going to rape me. I fought him, and in the ensuing struggle, he reached for a gun and was about to execute me when he dropped it due to the after-effects of the taser. I reached the weapon a split second before him, and as we struggled, I accidentally shot my skip. The worst part is that I stood there as Farro died, and I did nothing. I listened to his last words and his last breath. I killed him," I say brokenly but straightforwardly.

"Today, I learned something new."

Alex takes a sharp breath behind me.

"Tank and Farro knew each other from childhood. Their dads served together in Vietnam, and both belonged to the Shreveport POW/MIA chapter. When Tank and Farro were kids, their families, along with a few others in the community, regularly got together on Memorial Day and Veterans Day for BBQs and parades. That is at least until both fathers fell to alcoholism and drug abuse, running from demons that I suppose that claimed them in the end," I continue, a second drop joining the first on the floor.

"Farro went FTA for assault two years before I ever got his file. Rangeman was credited with the capture, and internal documents showed Tank was the team lead that day. Vinnie, my cousin and boss at the Bonds Office, kept a ledger of every payment he received from Tank when I was given files for dangerous skips with a bonus when I was hurt. I wondered where that money came from, so I followed the trail. The monthly payment sums match checks Tank wrote to himself from the Rangeman entertainment fund," I continue, my breath catching as I fight for control, "Except for one. The month I went after Farro."

"Oh Steph," I hear Alex gasp.

"Farro made a deposit into his bank account for ten thousand dollars two days before I went after him, matching a combination of withdrawals Tank made from several personal accounts over several days. Tank set me up." A third and fourth splatter appear beneath me.

"I see it so clearly now. The way Farro called me Little Girl, Tank's nickname for me. The way Tank suggested I quit bounty hunting and become Ranger's mistress. Tank told me I was a classy woman who needed romance in the bedroom, mimicking the exact words Farro breathed into my ear as he left bruising imprints of his hands and dick as they were pressed against my trapped body. I never told anyone what Farro said. Everything Tank said to me was a manipulation to keep me off balance and believing the lie. And I did," I begin to sob, turning to collapse into Alex's waiting arms. I allow myself a short indulgence of comfort before leaning against the door again, this time facing Alex.

I wipe my eyes and nose with the offered tissue and continue with new resolve. "I'm not going to believe the lie anymore. Farro was wife beating scum who peddled drugs to kids. That's the truth, and today I learned, when I was ready to find the truth, that Amber, Farro's widow, opened a bakery on the Shore, and Stella is an honors student. Before that, Amber was in the process of filing an Order of Protection against her estranged husband in the wake of his last domestic assault charge, and Stella was a truant. I didn't destroy their lives with my actions. I possibly saved them. I have done my best to destroy myself in the process of atonement all while believing the lie. I believed that had I allowed Farro to rape me, I would be hurt, but Amber and Stella would be better off. It's insanity, I can see that now, but the lie was seductive."

I press my lips together and sigh, gathering my thoughts before looking at Alex again, her brown eyes wide and flooded with unshed tears.

"I'll never really know why Tank didn't kill me himself. The only reason I can think of is that, in his mind, the conspiracy and manipulation were a means to an end, but since he wasn't the one who pulled the physical trigger, so to speak, he was innocent. He could act the part required of him as Ranger's best friend and a Core Team member of Rangeman, reaping the perceived benefits that would result of my demise," I state, each word feeling heavier on my tongue than the last. Then I lift my chin and press on.

"Tank did his best to destroy me, and when he failed physically, literally paying a childhood friend to kill me, he rallied to include the destruction of my spirit. He manipulated a violent, horrendous event and used it to break me down. I'm only now understanding how shattered Farro's death left me. The isolation. The paranoia. The deep-set belief that I am an evil person who harms others. This last year was hell, but I realize I have a second chance at life. I agreed to therapy, but now I understand much better what I am going to therapy for, and that gives me real hope in that process." I push myself from the door and stand up straight, tears trailing tracks towards the tiled floor.

"I'm so grateful you're here, Alex. You've helped mend my body, but by being a woman of obvious joy and compassion, you've also helped me to trust and see some of the positive in the world again. I hope that when I'm discharged tomorrow, it won't be the last time I see you," I say with genuine warmth.

I barely have the last word out when Alex wraps me in a big hug, losing her own battle against tears. "Don't you fear, Stephanie Plum. You and I are destined to be great friends. I see why everyone around here loves you, and so do I. We will all work to help you see what we see, Tank and all the rest of those fuckers be damned," Alex says forcefully.

We take turns washing our splotchy faces before I open the door, Alex behind me. I gasp at Ranger's unfiltered and agonized expression.

"Babe," he whispers.

"You heard," I say, more as a statement than a question.

"I was waiting for you by the door, and the sound traveled. Not loudly, but enough. I wouldn't have heard had I not been standing where I was. I shouldn't have eavesdropped, but I felt frozen by your story. I'm sorry for breaking your trust," Ranger immediately states somehow looking more horrified than before, and the words are explosive, knocking down another one of the walls I built while I believed the lies.

Before I even know what I am consciously doing, I lean forward with absolute assurance that Ranger would catch me, and wrap my arms around his muscular neck as he lifts me off the ground. He needs to hold me as much as I need to be held.

"There's nothing to forgive," I whisper into his neck, "But thank you for telling me the truth."

"I love you, Babe," Ranger whispers back, before setting me down on the bed again as Alex takes a quick round of vitals and places the cannula around my face as a coughing fit as a result of my crying starts. Relaxing against the pillows, I clutch Ranger's hand tightly and close my eyes. I take deep breaths, appreciating the pure oxygen as I do so, and allow myself to drift into the peace that follows deep emotional release.

"Alright, now I'm sure all of you have questions and concerns you want to be voiced, but this is not that moment. My patient needs rest," Alex announces with the full voice of authority.

I turn my head and look at my friends, who I hadn't realized were still in the room, not wanting them to worry unnecessarily on my behalf. "Hector, I left a written report in the shared folder you set up. Please distribute it. I'll answer any questions you guys have after everyone's had a chance to review the information," I state, addressing the obvious elephant in the room.

"_Si, Angelita,_" Hector says, but his worried eyes linger on me.

"Ella, I'm sorry, but I'm more tired than I expected, and I won't be much good for our shopping appointment. Perhaps you could join me in my apartment on four after I'm discharged?" I ask, stifling a yawn.

Ella walks over and rests her hand on my shoulder. "Of course, Stephanie. Anytime. Everything is more than ready for your move in tomorrow just the way it is. Rest up, Honey," she says with maternal love in her tone that matches the expression on her face, and it takes down another wall. "I just checked, and your dinner is still hot and ready. I made your favorite."

"Thank you, Ella," I say in quiet gratitude, knowing that if I try to say much more, I'll start sobbing again.

As she leaves, Lester joins her, for once words failing him, and Hector follows in his wake. I see Bobby catch Alex's eye before he quietly departs to his office. I'm still clutching Ranger's hand as Alex wheels the cart of food towards Ranger and myself.

"That looks good. I'll follow the good doctor's orders and eat in a chair. After, would you mind helping me get ready for bed?" I ask Alex.

"Of course, Steph," Alex responds, pulling up two chairs beside the bed. I slowly move to sit in the one closest to my current position, but it does feel good to sit down for a meal. I reluctantly release Ranger's hand so he can sit opposite me. "Just knock on the door when you're ready," Alex states, stepping into Bobby's office and pulling the door closed behind her.

Ranger lifts the covers over the plates, and I choke back the tears again at the sight of my portion chicken fettuccini linguini, green beans on the side, and Ranger's Italian salad with chicken, small pasta side.

"Babe?" Ranger questions.

"She loves me," I say simply, picking up my fork and taking the first magnificent bite.

"Yes, she does," Ranger affirms, before taking a large bite of his salad, moaning slightly in satisfaction. "And she loves me, too," he states, his eyes alight with merriment.

I snort so loudly I almost choke at the sound of Ranger moaning before breaking down in peals of giggles, the mood instantly lighter. I eat about half of my plate, wishing I could possibly stuff away more, but crying uncle as I feel the food baby bulge forming.

Alex returns to help me freshen up for bed as Ranger pushes the tray into the hallway before stepping into Bobby's office. "Thank you for ordering everyone away," I tell Alex as she helps me get comfortable in the bed.

"It's hard to lose your privacy the way you have the past couple of days. As your medical care provider and your friend, it was time for a break. How are you feeling? What's your pain level?" Alex asks.

"A five," I answer honestly. "I'm tired, and I think the pain is more from fatigue and increasing my activity level over the day than anything else. It does feel better than it did even yesterday, that's for sure. It was a three when I woke up this morning."

"How do you feel about taking another dose of Motrin now? If you find it hard to fall asleep or you wake up from the pain, I can give you something stronger then. However, as you are aware, that something stronger comes with the side effects of dizziness and sleepiness," Alex suggests. "We can also put ice on it as you fall asleep. I'll be here to stow it."

"That's a great plan," I agree easily, appreciative of her clear suggestions versus orders.

I hear a loud thud originate in Bobby's office, and I jump at the sound. "It's okay, Steph," Alex says softly, placing a hand on my shoulder as I work to slow my heart rate that automatically increased in response to sound. "You're safe. Take several deep breaths. That's your hypervigilance from PTSD kicking in. Therapy will help you with that, but you're already doing better than you were when I first met you. I'm so impressed. Your determination, intelligence, and heart are to be admired. When I last checked, the guys were reading the report you compiled today, and, being men who care about you, it has elicited some strong feelings. Remember, it's not towards you, however. It's towards the assholes who hurt you." Alex gives my shoulder a small squeeze before she begins gathering supplies.

Alex injects the liquid Motrin into my IV before returning with the cold pack. "Thanks, Alex, for everything. I'm pretty tired. I'm going to go to sleep now," I say.

"You're welcome, but you don't need to keep thanking me," she replies, giving my hand a quick squeeze before turning off the overhead lights but leaving a dim under-cabinet light on and slipping next door.

It's funny, I think, pulling the blanket up tighter around me. I've spent the last two days wishing for some time alone, and now that I have it, I wish I had Ranger's arms wrapped around me. I catch the muted sounds of another muffled outburst followed by exaggerated shushing from next door, and I cling to Alex's words. I'm safe, I chant, but my body demonstrates my lack of faith with its unwanted trembling. When I get like this, every sound is amplified, and even my vision seems sharper.

I hear the outer door to Bobby's office open and close, and then, silence. Ranger's not coming, probably too busy dealing with my report or how it's affected himself or the other Core Team members. He's given me a lot of his time the last couple of days, and I don't even know when he's had a chance to work out last. Alex probably told him I was asleep, and he's reasonably taking this chance to catch up on his personal life. After all, I wasn't very good company this afternoon, and I didn't ask him to stay. I have no right to hope for his unlimited companionship.

But then why does the emptiness of this room feel so crushing? I take a deep breath, keeping my eyes pressed closed, and attempt to calm what I intellectually know is a spiral of irrational emotions. Despite my best efforts a tear sneaks past my defenses, but it never lands on the pillow.

My eyes fly open as a calloused thumb brushes it away.

"_Querida," _Ranger says softly, leaning over the bed.

"You're here," I whisper back, leaning towards him. Ranger presses his lips against my forehead firmly, and I automatically place my hands on his back to pull him closer.

"_Siempre_," Ranger says, his lips tickling my skin before sitting on the bed beside me. "I'll always be here for you. I love you."

I nod slightly in mute acknowledgment of his devotion before Ranger lays on the bed beside me, his arm snaking under my shoulders as I place my head in the soft spot of his shoulder, feeling instantly calmer as everything that is Ranger surrounds me. "Is everything okay? I heard some sounds…" I say, trailing off as I clutch a fistful of Ranger's shirt in my hand.

Ranger places his hand over mine, and I exchange his shirt for lacing my fingers between his. "Yes, Babe. Everything is okay. The sounds you heard were reactions to reading your report, but not at all towards you. After overhearing your conversation with Alex and reading the report myself, I should be asking you that. Are you okay, Babe?" Ranger says, his concern unmistakable.

"I think I'm learning to breathe again," I say quietly. "Tank's lies were choking me. I believed them, as supported as they were by the Burg, my family, and my past, and I made many choices this last year that polluted my life time and again, until the air quality was so bad, I couldn't breathe anymore. The report, as hard it was to write, displaced some of the bad air with good. I found new perspectives. I took a deep breath of pure, clean air."

I paused as Ranger pressed his lips against my head, savoring the tingle from the roots of my hair to my baby toes. "But Ranger, you are a gale-force wind."

Ranger holds me a little tighter in response. "I'm so proud of you, Babe. No one else could have put that report together the way you did, and it is exactly what we needed to pull the case together. But right now, I don't care about cases or figuring out how to make sure everyone who hurt you is taken into custody. That will wait until tomorrow or the next day. Now is the time for rest. Sleep well, Babe. I love you."

With those comforting words, I fall asleep quickly in the loving security of Ranger's embrace.

* * *

**A/N: **I've returned from my travels and am settling back into my regular routine. Chapter 25 is written, and I'm determined to give you the ending to this story before I start law school. Your reviews continue to humble and inspire me. Thank you so much.

Misty23y is a great beta, helping me with grammar, story continuity, writer's block, and is so encouraging. Thank you, Babe.


	25. Chapter 25

**Disclaimer:** Anything recognizable belongs to Janet Evanovich, and the rest is mine. I'm grateful she lets us play.

**Warning:** Dark fic. Adult language, adult content, violence, smut. This is written for mature audiences only.

* * *

**Chapter 25**

**Ranger's POV**

When Steph told me the four words that I will never forget, _Tank set me up,_ I nearly failed at keeping my beast in check. If it weren't for the fact that my Babe needs me beside her right now as she finishes this damn report, I'd already be out on the streets, scouring Trenton for Enemy Number One. The urge to take down Tank is so strong, a selfish part of me wants to order Steph to stop her research immediately, but I recognize the determined set to her jaw, and so I keep myself in check. Sure, I could physically make her stop, but that would be at the cost of destroying the trust we've built between us this week. We would both know I wouldn't be asking her to stop for her emotional well-being but rather because I want to selfishly exact immediate revenge. No, the best thing I can do right now is stand by her.

Bobby, to his credit, must have recognized the war within me, and not one minute later, Lester and Hector flanked me while Alex was being brought up to speed on Steph so that Bobby could be available to intervene as well. It probably would take all three of them to contain me if I truly lost control of my famed discipline.

I never fully grasped before how quickly Steph can push away her feelings and refocus on the task at hand. After years of escaping to denial land as a coping mechanism for all the shitty things that have happened to her, it makes me newly appreciate the unguarded emotional moments that have passed between us over the years.

Rather than dwell on Tank, I lose myself in the positive memories I have of Steph. I picture the confidence she carried herself with as she entered the diner wearing a poorly fitted business suit and heels to go bounty hunting, not the least bit intimidated by my appearance. I had hoped to scare her away so that I could be off the hook of my promise to Connie, but Stephanie Plum showed the same endearing determination then that she is right now.

I recall Stephanie calling me when Morelli handcuffed her naked to her shower rod. All the Burg connections she has, and she called me, the asshole who did his damndest to scare her away not a couple days before. Steph saw right through me and trusted me, much to my astonishment. Deep down, I knew right then that she would be the only woman for me, but instead, I was a coward. Steph didn't understand how much danger Morelli left her in when he imprisoned her on that rod, but I did. I also knew then he was a bastard who didn't deserve Steph, but I was too chicken shit to act on what my heart already knew.

Then again, for all the things I think I knew, my ability to enter denial land either rivals Steph's or I am a bigger dumbass than I ever imagined. I've done some idiotic things over the years, from not maintaining my relationship with Julie to telling Stephanie I "love her in my own way," it's true. However, I think that misjudging Tank, or rather, ignoring the warning signs that have been there since childhood, may well be my greatest regret.

I see Steph's eureka moment flash on her face, from the flare of her nostrils to the quirk of her lips, and I'm filled with pride and trepidation. Steph truly is the best researcher I've ever seen. She works quickly, and, probably because she has never had any formal training, takes any available resources and puts the pieces to the puzzle together with her unique insights. Her facts will be correct, but as I watch the same haunted look I saw in Steph's eyes when I found her at the park Monday return, I again wonder if knowing the facts is worth the pain it will cause my Babe.

If I weren't so concerned, I would be amused at the look of surprise that crossed Steph's face when she realizes everyone is watching her work. When Steph steps into the restroom, Alex immediately moves to stand outside the door, and everyone begins attempting to look busy in an effort to put Steph more at ease when she returns. Hector, statue-still as he reads something on his tablet, catches my attention when Alex enters the restroom, closing the door again behind her.

"_Puta Madre," _Hector swears with a hatred to his tone that would make battle-hardened men turn around and walk the other direction. Everyone freezes, and I feel a draw to the bathroom, a need to know that Steph is okay. (Mother fucker)

I stop as close as I can to the door without touching it, and Steph's broken voice drifts through the space around the frame enough for me to hear, "I believed the lie." I raise my hand in a freeze motion, and the room is immediately silent. I know this is a private conversation, but I can't make myself move away. I have to know; what did Steph learn today? Is she okay?

I listen to Steph confess to Alex what happened during the Farro incident, and I note with concern that she is still assuming too much blame for what happened. Then Steph begins telling Alex what she discovered through her research today, and I am gripped with a feeling so foreign to me that I can't find the words to name it. An icy rock settles in my stomach, and a god-awful chill creeps through my limbs.

Tank and Farro. They were friends, and he used Rangeman accounts to pay off a friend to intentionally destroy the person I asked him to keep safe for me. I trusted him like a brother with the things I value most in this life. Tank became so entrenched in his quest for power that he used the very things that are most precious to me, my woman and my company, against me.

_"Everything Tank said to me was a manipulation to keep me off balance and believing the lie. And I did,"_ my Babe says, before being lost to sobs and Alex's murmured words of comfort.

I did, too. I heavily lean my forehead against the door as I choke back a lump forming in my throat.

When Steph's voice drifts through the door again, I find myself fighting tears of pride as I hear the resolution, _"I'm not going to believe the lie anymore."_ That's my Babe, and I intend to build her up in every way I can. It's real progress that Steph understands she didn't destroy Farro's wife and kid.

But just as hope swells, it swirls again with horror. Stephanie describes the Tank's malfeasance accurately, I am grateful I returned no later than I did, while Tank was still content to be a ringmaster rather than boots on the ground. I'm afraid of what he might have done had Stephanie continued to foil his plans to have her killed while he bled Rangeman money.

I take a long, slow breath to steady myself and redirect my thoughts to something less volatile – Alex. Alex is hired. She helped Steph open up and heal a little today, but she's also helped Bobby show more compassion and empathy in his role as a primary care provider. I will need to convince her to come aboard, but I doubt it will be too difficult. I hear the water running, and while I know I should move or risk being caught, I'm frozen in place, my thoughts and emotions running uncomfortably rampant.

I was in a dark mood after telling Steph she was "entertainment." My conscious pinged me at the time, but I thought I was the bigger man, keeping her safe from my life and the inherent dangers that come with it. Tank took me to the mats to help me work out my self-loathing, and after an hour of sparring, I confessed to Tank what I said to Steph. I asked him if I did the right thing, and he told me yes, reaffirming that the Core Team is comprised of terminal bachelors for a reason.

The fucker was manipulating me then, and then he took my words and manipulated Stephanie. He stole money from MY company to attempt to destroy, physically and emotionally, the love of MY life.

It will be a cold day in hell before I ever forgive the bastard, and jail is too good for him.

I allow myself the indulgence of imagining dropping Tank in a crate in a remote part of Siberia, Libya, Venezuela, or a Pacific island. However, at the end of each scenario, I see Tank grinning sadistically before returning to Trenton to have his revenge. He's just that good. I could never rest easy with the blind hope that the world would be just.

I consider placing Tank in a holding cell indefinitely, securing him in a prison of my devious creation. It initially feels good, imagining all the ways that I could make him suffer the way Stephanie has. But maintaining a prison takes time and mental stamina, and it would take me away from Steph. And the reality is, do I want to continue to have any responsibility for Tank in any capacity? No. I want him out of everyone's lives as quickly as possible.

Then there's the part of me that wants to terminate him, like Abruzzi. I'm almost set on this course of action when Steph's face, the blank look with the haunted eyes I will never be able to forget, flashes forward. If I kill Tank, she will know. Call it the Spidey sense. I don't believe for a second I would be able to fool her, and I think Steph would take responsibility for me pulling the trigger as though she had. I simply can't be someone who adds any additional pain to her life.

The only answer is to let the system take care of Tank, but that doesn't mean I can't use my influence and connections to ensure the system _takes care_ of Tank. It also doesn't mean I have to like it, but the silver lining is that Tank will hate having his reputation destroyed and his precious possessions stripped away from him.

The door suddenly opens, and with a jolt, I'm brought back to the present. I can't remember ever feeling so emotionally unglued, and a fresh wave of love and adoration for Steph mixed with the knowledge that my lack of judgment and actions contributed to Tank's ability to hurt her so profoundly nearly brings me to my knees.

"Babe," I whisper.

"You heard," Steph states quietly, and I somehow feel even guiltier. What if my selfishness again causes her more pain?

I find myself quickly stumbling through an apology, using too many words as another symptom of how undone I feel. I finish and hold my breath as I wait for Steph's response. I expected silence or an explosion of hand gestures, but I was mentally unprepared for the total faith Steph showed as she collapsed into my arms. My body responded intuitively, and as I cradled my love tightly against my body, I feel my heart rate calm.

Steph is my gravity, my anchor, and my sun. I breathe in her scent, and my head clears. In seconds, I feel my control, mental clarity, and a sense of purpose return. I've got her, she's holding onto me, and I'm not going to let my Babe down.

Her words of forgiveness tickle my neck, and I am made stronger for her faith, trust, and devotion.

"I love you, Babe," I whisper, never meaning the words more than I do at that moment.

Reluctantly, I place Steph down on the bed, not wanting to let go but concerned at how pale she is as another round of coughing causes her small frame to shake. Alex quickly takes over, beginning with Steph before ordering everyone except me out of the room. My Babe once again amazes me with her selflessness and compassion, making sure everyone else is okay before they depart.

Sitting down to dinner alone with Steph, I can't help but imagine us doing the same on seven, and I hope I never eat alone again. They say that laughter is the best medicine. While I'm not much of a jokester, preferring to leave that task to Lester, I'll gladly step outside of my comfort zone just to see her smile. Man, I really am smitten, I think to myself as moan seductively over lettuce and watch Stephanie fall apart in peals of laughter.

Alex returns, and I step into Bobby's office where I'm met with three men unsuccessfully processing Stephanie's report. Lester is trembling with anger, Hector is throwing a knife at Bobby's corkboard, and Bobby hunched over in a chair with his head in his hands. They are a bomb about to explode, and I must diffuse it quickly.

Lester's expression is far from blank as his furious eyes lock with mine.

"Hit me," I direct at Lester, standing with my arms at my side. Bobby's head jerks up, and Hector stills as he appraises me stonily. Lester doesn't need to be told twice and lands a substantial blow to my side that I make no attempt to deflect. It hurts, but I don't so much as blink.

"You're a real fucker sometimes, Ranger," Lester spits furiously before landing a second blow. "Entertainment," he hisses accusingly, and Hector's dark expression glints off the knife he twirls between his fingers.

My eyes widen slightly as I'm taken by surprise that Lester was able to make that connection before a hazy memory of me, drunk off my ass on whiskey comes to mind.

_**Flashback**_

_"Rangeman, what's gotten into you?" Lester says as he pulls me into my apartment._

_"Stephanie," I mumble. "Always, Stephanie."_

_Lester unceremoniously plants me on my bed, and I lay back, staring at the ceiling._

_"What'd you do that's eating you up this bad?" Lester asks, beginning to pull a shoe off._

_"Not do, say," I correct belligerently._

_"Alright, what'd you say to Beautiful," Lester asks with more patience than I may have had in the same situation._

_"She was concerned about how I could afford all the cars and resources I offer her. I told her she was entertainment in the Rangeman budget," I mumble, placing a hand over my eyes. _

_"You do know it's okay for you to fall in love, be happy, have another kid or just plain be happy, right?" Lester replies quietly, dropping the second shoe on the floor before placing a glass of water on my bedside table, turning off the lights, and leaving me alone._

I nod my head once in agreement at Lester's accusation before directly my next statement at Hector.

"She told you," I state evenly.

"_Si," _Hector responds. "But I know why you did it. You wanted to keep Angelia safe from men like us, not knowing how close that danger really was. I already asked you about your intentions. I won't hold the past against you, but I do care about what we do now."

Bobby stands, looking confused as he glances at the three of us. "I once told Stephanie that I pay to protect and support her using entertainment funds in the Rangeman budget," I confess, making no effort to defend myself. Bobby's breath catches before he turns and slams his fist down on his desk, his back to me. It's the most emotion I've ever seen from him, and we all still as Bobby collects himself.

"Do you know that I haven't slept well since Farro?" Bobby eventually states quietly, straightening himself but keeping his back to us. "Of course not, but I don't. You three weren't there," he continues, almost as though he's talking to himself. "Steph's voice keeps me up at night, the panic, pain, and desperation she unleashed in the ambulance after Tank called her Little Girl, asking her why she went in alone. Tank played it perfectly, manipulating her even then until she snapped. I tried to keep her calm, but she was in a spiral, screaming and trying to defend herself. Steph's blood pressure and heartrate spiked, and I was worried she would go into cardiac arrest or hurt herself when she began physically attacking Tank in an attempt to flee the ambulance, so I sedated her." Bobby takes a heavy breath and looks down at the ground.

"I failed Steph in so many ways. I was there. I should have recognized and treated her mental trauma, but it didn't even click to me evaluate her symptoms as I would a _warrior_ because I always treated Bomber as entertainment as well. We all did. Ranger was just the one to say it to her face." A heavy silence settles in the room as Hector pockets his knife and Lester's shoulders drop.

"It's because of Steph that I have a relationship with my daughter," I say after a long minute. "Julie and I had a hard time finding common ground. I didn't know what to do. I knew Steph wrote or spoke with her daily, and I was jealous of their easy rapport. I think Steph knew this, and one day at Pino's she told me, 'You can't rewrite the past, Ranger, but you can change the narrative for the future. Julie loves you now, just as she always has. Try engaging on her current interests, and you'll find the conversation will get easier.'

"So, I ended up reading the Harry Potter series with Julie as a father-daughter book club, and it worked like magic, forgive the pun. In doing so, I found this quote in the first book that became the catalyst for my self-reflection and change while I was gone on my last mission. It goes, 'It is our choices that show what we truly are, far more than our abilities.'*

"In any given room, I'm accustomed to being the best. I've built a successful career and business on my abilities. Stephanie, while exceptionally capable, never matched us in raw, militaristic prowess and capability, and so we overlooked the choices she made time and again that are ultimately more important than whether or not she fits our mold. If it were up to me, I would have succeeded at pushing her away from the first time we met. I think that's true of all of us. Stephanie was the one who chose to love us anyway, and she never quit on us. Even after Farro, sure, she locked herself away, but she let Hector in, she let me in after I returned, and she's let you, Lester and Bobby in, the last couple of days as well. That took a level of courage I'm only beginning to fully understand.

"We've depended on our abilities and lived our lives generally shirking away from any real relationships with people. Stephanie has shown us a different, better way. We can make a choice now to be better men. Steph's already forgiven us. Now it's up to us to forgive ourselves and focus on what we want our narrative for the future to be," I finish.

I watch as Lester, Bobby, and Hector all turn to face me with expressions of humble resolution. I match their stares one by one, and each man silently indicates his agreement.

"What's your plan of action regarding Tank?" Lester asks, his face hardening as he does.

I hear the door click behind me as Alex slips into the room and leans against the wall.

"We forward the report Steph generated today along with all supporting documents to Pete. He integrates it into his evidence package that we will present to Chief Feldman tomorrow or Sunday. I'll also be sharing the information with Senator Juniak and my handler, and they will monitor things with their assets to make sure Tank doesn't try to use one of his contacts to get out of the charges. I expect Tank, Vinnie, and Lula will be arrested between Sunday and Monday. Then we let the system take care of them," I say evenly.

"You have got to be fucking kidding me!" Lester explodes again, pushing me as he does so, but this time I quickly pin him to the ground.

"Shh!" Alex and Bobby shush together. "Steph's asleep. Keep control of your volume or take this somewhere else," Alex warns. "She was already on edge about the noise you all were making earlier."

Lester immediately stills, and I release him quickly, knowing Alex is right. Lester, while chastised into silence, is still shooting daggers in my direction.

"There's no other way," I say evenly. "We kidnap Tank and send him to some third world shithole; we leave open the possibility of him returning. We place him in a holding cell, then we have to handle him for the rest of his life, which would be terrible for morale and the survival of this company. We execute him or arrange for his execution, Steph would know. Regardless of how we did it, I believe deep down she would find out and blame herself. If we use the system and all of our contacts in it to place those assholes behind bars, it isn't as satisfying, but it's the safest option overall."

"What about a little retribution before TPD arrests the three of them?" Lester bargains and I see Hector tilt his head in interest.

"We can't," I say firmly. "Tank doesn't know Steph is going to press charges. If he suspects anything, he might do anything to hurt Steph, us, or even our families. He'll be a loose cannon. The best thing we can do is passively monitor him, staying firmly under the radar, until Pete and TPD have the case ready to be turned over to the prosecutor's office. We can partner with TPD for the takedown; Lester, you coordinate the plan. That said, Lester and Hector, if Tank, Vinnie, or Lula so much as fart in the nude, I want to know about it."

Bobby groans, "I did not need that image in my head," and Lester snorts. The mood lightened and our course of action set, we discuss the report in more specific detail for a few more minutes before the rest of the Core Team excuses themselves for the evening.

"How's Steph doing?" I ask, turning my attention to Alex.

"She's healing," Alex says kindly, and know we are both talking about more than her physical health. "Unless anything unexpected happens tonight, she'll be ready to be discharged tomorrow with daily check-ups for a week to ten days. I believe Steph will make great progress with the aid of a therapist and that she's ready to engage in that process. But as much as Stephanie has already healed, she does have a long way to go. Steph is easily triggered and needs extra patience and support as she goes through that process. However, Stephanie is an extraordinary person. I'm impressed with her bravery, courage, and heart. She's scared and vulnerable, but she's trusting you guys despite everything inside of her telling her to hide and protect herself. It's obvious Steph has a special connection with you, but I doubt she's going to make building a relationship easy. I'm guessing she's been burned a few times and that combined with this past year, well, I guess all I can say is be gentle and communicate."

Alex gives me a half-smile and blushes a little. "Sorry Ranger, I don't usually go that deep, but I think Steph's gotten under my skin, too, and I feel a little extra-protective," she says sheepishly.

"I would like to hire you to join our Rangeman family permanently. Bobby has been wearing two hats for a long time as the Rangeman Trenton medical supervisor and responsible for overseeing the company-wide medical program as a Core Team member. I also think that as Rangeman hires more women, you can develop the role of women's health coordinator. You've proven yourself this week to be able to integrate into our team with poise and ease, and my employees already respect you. I respect you. I think you'll find our pay and benefits to be highly competitive. What will it take to convince you?" I ask, a smile playing at the corners of my mouth.

"Do your benefits include education and tuition debt forgiveness? Would I be able to continue doing some rotations at Princeton as I work on hours towards my certificates?" Alex fires back, her eyes wide.

"Yes," I state. "Continuing education is definitely something we can negotiate. Whatever you have worked out with your current job regarding education credits and school debt, we will match or exceed."

Alex beams at me. "Then you have yourself a new Rangeman employee," she declares, holding her hand out to me, and I shake it with a smile. Alex looks slightly stunned. "Thousand-watt smile indeed," I hear her mumble under her breath as I run up to seven to change out of my uniform and get ready for bed.

I feel a pull in my gut to get back to Steph, and five minutes later, I'm sliding into the darkened exam room. I stand in front of the closed door as my eyes adjust to the light, and several blinks later, my Babe comes into focus. As I take a silent step towards her, I frown at the sad sigh that escapes her lips. Another step and I gently wipe away a tear that escaped. Steph's eyes flash open, and in their blue depths, I see the best choice I can make.

I will love this woman with my whole heart. I will support her, respect her, and cherish her. I realize now that I am my best self when I choose to accept the love she has always offered me. It doesn't matter how long it takes for her to say those three words me to me in return, how quickly our relationship moves forward or even if we ever get married. Loving Stephanie Michelle Plum is my priority now.

* * *

*Dumbledore to Harry in _Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone_, by J.K. Rowling. My handle is HermioneIncarnate – we all knew I'd have to reference HP at some point!

**A/N: **I get so excited every time I see a review, read a PM, and see how many people read a new chapter after it's posted. Thank you so much for sticking with me after all this time. I NEVER thought I would still be writing this story six months later (and I thought it would be less than ten chapters - ha!), and I'm so glad we are on this journey together.

This chapter is important to me. We've fleshed out a lot of Stephanie's feelings about things, but overall, Ranger has been a rock. He has buried a lot of his feelings for the greater good, but it seemed to me that after returning from a difficult mission only to come home and find that life as he knew it has come completely undone, it would have to hit him at some point. I don't think Ranger would ever be prone to a big emotional scene, and so for me, a wild flash in his eyes IS a big, emotional scene. And I think afterward, Ranger would pull from his strong moral fiber and strength of character to be exactly the leader everyone would anchor themselves in a storm, and that going through some of those emotions would propel him to be an even better leader. I'd love to know what you think. Did I get there? Do you agree? Disagree?

Misty23y has a new story out, _A Cop's Wife_. It's an AU twist on our favorite characters, and I like her competent Steph a lot. She is also a great beta, and I'm so appreciative of the time and effort she puts into helping me with each chapter.


	26. Chapter 26

**Disclaimer:** Anything recognizable belongs to Janet Evanovich, and the rest is mine. I'm grateful she lets us play.

**Warning:** Dark fic. Adult language, adult content, violence, smut. This is written for mature audiences only.

* * *

**Chapter 26**

**Stephanie's POV**

_**Twenty-Four Hours Later – Sunday Night**_

I sigh and push my hair out of my eyes as I roll over in my bed, trying to find a more comfortable spot in hopes of finally falling asleep. I watch with bated breath as the red digital numbers on the clock beside me flash from 2:42 to 2:43.

I stare at the ceiling and trace the edges of the walls with my eyes in the same pattern as last night. Since leaving the infirmary yesterday, I've holed myself up in the apartment Ella and Hector, I'm guessing, helped prepare for me. A quick perusal of cupboards and drawers revealed that Hector brought over everything I owned from previous my apartment, even my two safes. The difference is that everything smells clean, and when I looked through the closet, I saw several new items that look very similar if not exact copies of things that used to be in my wardrobe. I'm guessing those are things deemed too contaminated by mold. The thoughtful attention to detail makes me feel loved, but at the same time, I can't help but wonder if I owe someone something.

The Core Team and Alex have all found reasons to visit throughout the day. Ranger stayed for dinner both evenings, but I've been reluctant to have him stay overnight. I wanted my space and independence, well as much as I can in a secure building like this, and it seems ridiculous to ask him to sleep here instead of his comfy apartment on seven. It's almost like he'd be moving out and stepping down, in this case, literally.

I sigh again in exasperation at my insomnia. All told, however, the quiet time in the day has been therapeutic. I needed the comfort of solitude to decompress after the nosiness of medical. I've had time to think through everything that's happened this week, and I've decided that while I have a long way to go, including sleeping at night, apparently, I'm proud of myself.

Trusting the Core Team and Alex, opening myself up to a relationship with Ranger, moving out of my apartment, making my physical and mental health a priority including beginning therapy tomorrow, and taking action against Tank, Vinnie, and Lula are huge steps towards a better future. Frankly, a future I never thought I would have. I'm not sure I even expected to live another year with the path I was on. I don't think I even cared.

I shudder and roll over, wishing again I dared to walk up to seven, but I'm still a big relationship chicken.

The cases against Tank, Vinnie, and Lula were turned over to TPD this afternoon, and an arrest warrant was signed a few hours later. Rangeman is preparing to assist in taking down the three stooges at dawn. I'm not going, and I have no desire to be there.

The reason isn't my health. Apart from how inevitably fatigued that I'm going to feel tomorrow, I'm feeling much better. I can walk without a limp, and I feel stronger overall. I'm not used to doing takedowns as a part of a team, and I don't want to be a liability that could prevent apprehension. Mostly, however, I think it's that I trust Ranger to take care of it, and that's enough. I'll have my day in court to confront them.

I close my eyes and take a deep breath, attempting to be one with the mattress. I slowly let out the air and stop as the hair on the back of my neck prickles.

_Click._

I'm not alone.

_You're safe. This is Rangeman. It's probably Ranger, missing you as much as you're missing him. Don't be paranoid. _I try to calm my immediately anxious mind and body.

I lay completely still with coiled muscles as I strain my ears, listening for the footfalls.

_Step. Swish. _

Stop.

_Step. Swish. _

Stop.

My Spidey sense is screaming,_ "Some is hunting me!"_

I roll out of bed soundlessly and pull my loaded 9mm out from between the mattress and the box spring before low crawling to the far corner of the bed. I was relieved to find it in a hidden compartment in the safe Hector brought over and decided it could continue to be a secret. I watch incredulously as a black shadow fills my door frame and fires three times, a muted bang filling the room. The only light is from the muzzle flash, and I blink rapidly to regain my night vision with my earing ringing loudly as the intruder rips back my comforter and discovers the assassinated body pillow.

He swings his weapon around to advance on my position, and with an unwavering aim, I return the same three bullets intended for me. Mine don't miss, and he drops to the ground with a groan and a thud.

I stand there wordlessly as seconds later my apartment door opens again. I suspect it's my Rangeman rescuers, but just in case, I conceal myself behind the mattress corner once again with my weapon aimed at the door.

Hector bursts into my line of sight, stopping abruptly at the man on my floor.

"Angelita! Estefania!" he cries out desperately as Lester runs in behind him the next second, stooping to disarm the assailant.

"Don't shoot. I'm armed," I call out loudly, in part because it's hard to tell how loud you are when you can't hear very well, before standing, holding my weapon out to my side. I begin the feel my weak sense of control over the situation wane as I scan the rapidly filling room, suddenly very aware of my lack of pants. Hector takes a step towards me, and I take a step back as I close my hands over the weapon again.

_Where's Ranger? Who did I shoot? Did I kill him? _

I can't tell if I forgot to breathe or if I'm breathing too much, but the edges of my vision begin to blur. And then the only thing I see is the one person I need to see…Ranger.

"Babe," he says calmly, his hands in front of him.

I want to run, leap into his arms, and ask him to tell me this is all a bad dream. But I'm frozen, my feet anchored in place as the rest of my body begins to tremble.

There's a roar of noise around me, and I feel my mind struggling to focus. I make out the words _Martin, crime scene, time of death._

"Babe," Ranger says slightly louder but with the same calm, and I notice he's a step closer.

The noise fades.

"Babe," Ranger repeats with another step forward. "Give me your weapon. I've got you."

I hear his words, I see his lips move, but I can't make my body obey. I'm simply unable to stand down.

Ranger takes another step and another until he's standing to my side within an arms' length of me.

"It's okay, Babe. You did the right thing. The threat is neutralized. I'm going to take your weapon," he says before gently placing his hands firmly over mine. He pauses, I think to see if I'm going to struggle, and when I don't, quickly disarms me and passes the handgun behind him. I follow its journey with rapt attention as it moves from Ranger's hands to Lester's. Lester applies the safety before securing it in the small of his back and taking a step backward.

With what feels like a great effort, I move my attention back to Ranger. "Is he dead? Did I kill him?" I whisper.

Ranger places both hands on my shoulders before looking at me seriously. "Yes, the intruder is dead, and I'm so glad it's not you. You did the right thing. This is not your fault," he states emphatically, his eye locked on mine.

I nod a couple of times, but I'm beginning to feel like this is an out of body experience. "I can't be here. I need pants. I'm cold, but my bed. He shot my bed. I don't have a blanket. It has holes, and I'm cold. I was warm, in my bed, and now I'm standing here with no pants. All these people. I…" I stutter, struggling with to wrap my head around what has happened, as I begin to lose the battle against the impending wave of panic, fear, adrenaline, and shock.

Ranger pulls me to him and wraps his arms around my back. "Shh, Steph. It's okay. You're okay. Lester has your sweatpants. I'm going to help you put them on, and then I'm going to pick you up. You're going to close your eyes and press your face into my chest, and I'm going to carry you up to seven. Do you understand?" he says, the calm but directive cadence of his voice breaking through the chaos in my brain.

I nod woodenly before saying, "Yeesss," my teeth chattering as I do.

"I'm proud of you, Babe," Ranger says, pulling back. "Now I'm going to help you lift your right foot. Good job. Next your left. It's okay. I've got you," he continues in the same steady voice, narrating every action for my benefit before picking me up. I feel my muscles immediately give out, and I know I'm dead weight in his arms even as I grip a fistful of his shirt.

I stare into Ranger's eyes, his face blank, but his eyes have a flame burning in the back of them. "You've got me. I trust you," I whisper, finding immediate grounding and comfort in the security of his body. Ranger walks purposefully but gracefully, and I keep my face buried against his chest the entire journey.

When we enter Ranger's apartment on seven, I'm assaulted first by the smell. I'd know this smell anywhere. It's Ranger and Bulgari and Ella's cooking and leather sofas and home. I burst into tears.

"It's okay, Babe. You're safe. You did the right thing, and I'm so proud of you. I love you, Babe," Ranger soothes over and over again, caressing my hair and back as I sob big, racking tears into his black t-shirt.

"I haven't cared, damn it. I haven't cared if anyone lived or died the past year," I sob, and Ranger's hand stills. "I've shot nine people since Farro, and I've been shot at nineteen times. I didn't care if the people I shot lived or died and getting shot at never phased me before tonight. Now, I do care, and I can't stop these damn tears!" I cry, pressing my fist into Ranger's chest.

"I think it's because you've realized you have something to live for," Ranger says quietly, his voice thickly accented, and I lift my head for the first time since Ranger picked me up. Though my vision is blurry from tears, I still see the unfiltered love, concern, and agony over tonight's events in the answering gaze.

"I think I did, too," I say with a quavering voice, and Ranger crushes his lips against mine, his kiss desperate, needy, and I answer it with the same passion.

It's over quickly, but we are both left panting. I rest my ear against Ranger's chest, feeling calmer though still trembling. I feel Ranger's phone buzz in his cargo pocket, and he moves me slightly to retrieve it.

"Babe, I'm going to ask Bobby to check you over, and Hector is going to sit with you. TPD and the ME are here, and I am required to meet with them. If you need anything, and I mean anything, ask Bobby or Hector to send me a text, and I'll return immediately," Ranger states while texting several messages.

"Okay," I say, trying to sound braver than I feel.

"Remember, you did the right thing, and I'm proud of you," Ranger says firmly before kissing the top of my head. "_Querida, te quiero_."

A second later, there's a knock on the door, and Ranger gently sets me onto the couch to answer it, his gun drawn at his side. Hector enters immediately and sits down beside me. Bobby follows Hector into the room, carrying his medical bag beside him but stops to speak with Ranger before approaching me. I lean against Hector, feeling the absence of Ranger's warmth and strength acutely, and he places an arm around my shoulders. Ranger catches my eyes, seemingly memorizing my face, before abruptly turning and exiting the apartment.

"Angelia, are you okay?" Hector asks quietly.

"I'm okay," I state automatically, and Hector snorts quietly.

"I don't believe you," he responds, "but I get it. I'm here for you."

"I want to be okay," I reply honestly, and he pulls me closer.

"I know, and that's good enough," he says as Bobby returns from Ranger's bedroom with a blanket and a couple of pillows.

"Hey, Steph. I see you're shivering. I'm going to place this pillow on Hector's lap so you can lay down with a couple more pillows placed under your legs and cover you with this blanket before I begin your exam. Sound good?" he says compassionately.

"I'd like that," I say, sliding down and pulling the comforter up to my chin.

Bobby begins by taking my pulse and blood pressure, checking my temperature, and shining a light into my eyes. He asks me if I feel dizzy or nauseous, and I answer honestly yes but not as severely as I did in my apartment on four. I yawn several times, and while I'm finding it difficult to focus on Bobby's questions, I also know I'm still feeling too vigilant to fall asleep.

"Hey, Steph. I finished the exam. I brought a small, portable oxygen tank with me, and I'm going to place a mask over your face. Your body is under stress from the events of tonight, and this will help you to recover," Bobby says, squeezing my hand.

I have a flashback to the examination Bobby gave me in the ambulance after Farro, and it's striking how different things are tonight. I feel cared for in body, mind, and spirit. Tonight is terrible, but I will be okay.

I squeeze Bobby's hand in reply. "Thank you," I whisper, my voice cracking as tears flood my eyes again.

"Don't worry, Bomber," Bobby says before pursing his lips together and taking a quick breath. "I've got you, and I won't let you down. You're going to be okay."

I take a deep breath of the cool, oxygen-rich air and shiver again involuntarily. Hector tucks the blanket in around me tighter, and I rest my forehead against his stomach. I take another deep breath and drift off to an uneasy sleep.

**Ranger's POV**

Turning away from Stephanie, I lock my blank face into place as I take the stairs two at a time down to five. Trenton is about to be reminded of why I am someone to be feared.

I meet Lester at my office. "Report," I bark curtly, logging into my computer as he begins talking.

"Duty received a report of six shots fired at 0245, two different weapons. Hector was the first on the scene, myself second. I identified the intruder as Daniel Martin, and although unconscious, I detained him while Hector determined Stephanie's location. I observed three center shot bullet wounds on his torso, and when I stood, three bullet holes in the pillow on Stephanie's bed.

"Bobby evaluated Martin at the scene and determined he was dead. The ME is onsite to remove the deceased after TPD processes the scene. Hector accessed the door code history. Keith Jones, who worked in the IT department, changed Martin's access permissions on his fob seconds before he entered the space. Jones was apprehended preparing to leave the building and is currently being held in Conference Room 1. I didn't place him in the holding cell to avoid drawing unnecessary attention from TPD. There are two guards on him.

"When I did a pat-down of Martin, I discovered a burner phone. I used his thumbprint at the scene to unlock it and change the passcode. You'll want to read these messages," Lester states, handing me the phone.

0137, unknown number:_Execute elimination immediately. Pay as discussed._

0141, reply: _Roger. Rdvz 0400._

"Hector immediately uploaded the phone data into his computer. I received this digital report," Lester continues, exchanging the phone for a tablet.

I recognize the software as an upgrade I approved since my return, but I'm not yet familiar with the report format generated by the system. It's a platform that essentially automates hacking into burner phones by tracing the wi-fi systems and cell tower data the phones use to provide a detailed location and user information. I skim the report twice before I see it.

"Tank sent the order," I spit out incredulously. "What does surveillance say? Is he still at his home?"

"Affirmative," Lester states, fire flashing in his eyes.

"Assemble the takedown team, add Binky and Zero as additional team members. You're the lead. I will stay here to handle the scene and make sure Stephanie is doing okay. I'll bring the Chief up to date on these findings and give you the order to roll out. I'll be on channel four and will passively monitor channel three. As a reminder, everyone will be in full battle rattle. Assume that Tank is armed, dangerous and that his residence may be booby-trapped. Proceed with caution," I order gravely before using my computer to email copies of the phone logs and location data to Chief Feldman.

He calls my direct line less than a minute later.

"Ranger, I'm on my way to your office now, ETA is 3 minutes," Chief Feldman barks. "I hear you have a second suspect held with a citizen's arrest?"

"Yes, Chief. I have evidence that Keith Jones acted as an accomplice to Daniel Martin. I have further evidence. We need to move on his arrest now. I'm expecting him to move away from his residence within the next fifteen minutes," I state urgently.

"I'll put in some calls and meet you in your office," Chief Feldman replies before disconnecting the call.

He strides in, escorted by Woody, five minutes later.

"I have the Mercer County Sheriff's Emergency Response Team as well as our SWAT team being briefed. They will rendezvous with your team at the pre-arranged parking lot within the next fifteen minutes, possibly sooner. They can review the plan and execute the takedown, within the next twenty to twenty-five minutes. We could move sooner, but given the danger the target poses, I'd rather do this right than fast," Chief states.

"Roger," I respond before conveying the information to Lester over my headset. I hate any time delay, but I have to agree with the Chief. Having specialized response teams on hand will be important in preventing anyone else from being a casualty today.

"Roger. Surveillance reports no movement. We are heading to the rendezvous point now," Lester states. I affirm his report before leading the Chief to four and walking him through the crime scene and evidence gathered. We arrive as the ME is preparing to remove the body.

With detached professionalism, I show Chief Feldman the fobs we use and explain how Martin gained access to Steph's apartment. I show him where we found Steph taking cover and point out the weapon she used as well as the weapon Martin used, which are already bagged for evidence. Hector _verified_ Steph's weapon was properly licensed and registered first, but TPD doesn't need to know that.

Once Chief Feldman is satisfied that the scene is being processed to the highest standards of professionalism, he gives his blessing to the ME. We both remove our sterile glove and boot covers before heading up to five. I observe him inspect both how we are detaining Jones and the condition of the suspect himself. I review the evidence against Jones, including the computer logs showing he changed the access codes, a burner phone, and surveillance video showing him attempting to leave through an emergency exit before being detained with the Chief.

He accepts all of it into evidence before ordering Jones be taken into custody and charged. I have never worked this closely with Chief Feldman before, but his competence and attention to detail impress me. This is a working relationship that I want to continue to improve.

"I'll escort you to our control room now. We will be able to watch the live feed bodycams my personnel wear and listen in on comms," I state before turning and heading towards the door of the conference room.

"Before we do Ranger, I want to commend you on the solid operation you have here," Chief Feldman starts, and I turn to look back at him. "It's a difficult thing to let someone else into your house and show your cards while doing it. I appreciate how tough the situation you find yourself in is right now and know that I certainly don't hold it against you. If anything, the integrity you've shown today is only serving to mend the broken bridge between our two entities. That Stephanie Plum is quite the apprehension agent and an asset to our community, I don't care what the busybodies of Trenton and their snot-nosed progeny say. I take it personally that she is being targeted. We will do the best we can on our end to see this through."

"Thank you, Chief," I say evenly, maintaining my blank face although I am surprised by this conversation, and hold out my hand to shake his.

I hear Lester report that the teams are about to roll out over my headset. I see Eddie and Big Dog approach from the hallway, and the Chief steps forward to converse with them. I see a scowl form on Chief Feldman's otherwise impassive face.

"You tell him that I order that son of a bitch to remove himself from the building and return to TPD immediately or he'll find himself unemployed by sunrise!" the Chief explodes, and Eddie and Big Dog quickly turn and exit through the stairwell.

"Morelli," Chief Feldman states, shaking his head as he looks at me. "With the documented bad blood between him and Ms. Plum, not to mention against Rangeman, that last thing we need is him mucking up the crime scene and creating an opening for the defense. This is a solid case, and I intend to keep it that way."

I feel my expression become harden, but I say nothing.

"After we watch the takedown, the last thing my team needs is statements from yourself, Lester, Hector, and Stephanie," Chief Feldman says as we enter the control room.

"Roger," I respond, my attention immediately focusing on the monitors.

"Sir, the Rangeman team and SWAT team are working together on entry and apprehension. The SERT team is forming a secondary perimeter and is standing by with their EOD team. They are taking a covert approach to the residence with a coordinated entry planned through all doors and windows to block escape," Cal reports, never taking his eyes off the screens.

Lester's voice comes through the overhead speaker. "On my mark, execute," he says in a muted tone. The seconds tick by like heartbeats. "Execute."

I watch, a part of me wanting to be on the scene, as two dozen heavily armed men materialize out of the trees, bushes, and over the fence and use force to break down the doors and shatter windows. Squad cars block any exit from the driveway and officers train their weapons on the front of the house.

Radio silence.

No shots are fired.

Minutes tick agonizingly by.

"He's gone," Lester finally reports grimly.

"Fuck," I mutter under my breath, as disappointed as I can tell Lester is that Tank has disappeared, eluding capture tonight.

* * *

**A/N: **Hello! I've survived my first four weeks of law school, and as a treat, finished editing this chapter. Thank you so much for your patience and for continuing to follow this story. I do solemnly swear that I will finish this story. I do not promise a posting schedule. Learning to balance school, homework, and family is a fairly all-consuming task right now, but I see finding time to do things I love, such as creative writing, an important part of continuing to be a well-balanced me.

Many continued thanks to misty23y. She is a great beta and a great friend. I'm appreciative of her gentle reminders and pushes to keep plugging away whenever and with whatever time I have. She is one of the many reasons I value this community.


	27. Chapter 27

**Disclaimer:** Anything recognizable belongs to Janet Evanovich, and the rest is mine. I'm grateful she lets us play.

**Warning:** Dark fic. Adult language, adult content, violence, smut. This is written for mature audiences only.

* * *

**Chapter 27**

_**Early Monday Morning**_

**Stephanie's POV**

Awareness returns as a churning confusion of reality and memory. Like the swirl of tepid dishwater racing down the drain, snippets of fear, my desperate desire to live, and the deep need to be okay, things I haven't felt through my emotional numbness of the past year, flow into my heart and consciousness. A tear escapes, slowly trailing down the contours of my jawline, but before it drops off the edge, a calloused thumb wipes it away. My eyes fly open with a start that causes my breathing to hitch.

"Hector," I whisper, almost to myself as I sit up and look around the room. He moves to give me space as Bobby sits on my other side.

"How are you feeling, Steph?" he asks sincerely, taking the oxygen mask from me.

Suddenly, I feel very overwhelmed with trying to respond to all this attention while struggling to pull my emotions, still raw from waking up, together, and I look down at the clenched hands in my lap.

"Fine," I say, staring at the mole above my left wrist, my eyes tracking from each slight sun freckle to the next.

"To be sure, I'm going to do a round of vitals," Bobby says in the same professionally warm tone. As he goes about the work, I continue to stare at my left wrist, tracking dot to dot. Funny, I never realized how many freckles I had before. Then Bobby stands to stow his equipment away in his bag, and the light from the lamp shifts so that it shines on me directly.

My freckles have a dark reddish tinge to them. Oh, God.

"Thanks, guys," I mumble, coming to my feet. "I need a minute." And I walk as quickly and evenly as I can towards Ranger's bathroom, closing doors behind me but never taking my eyes off my wrist. The longer I look, the more dots I see, crusted and splayed across my front.

I'm covered in death. A death I caused.

It's with only a vague sense of reality as I turn the water on hot and rip off the clothes that have _his_ blood on them. I immediately grab a loofa and fill it with an obscene quantity of Bulgari. I frantically scrub at the first spot and then the next and the next, doing my damndest to remove every trace of this hellacious evening from my body.

"No!" I yell in surprise and frustration when a hand is firmly placed over mine. I attempt to jerk my arm free and, in the process, lose my balance and begin to topple backward. My eyes prick with tears when instead of landing on the hard tile, I remain upright in firm arms.

My heart is pounding relentlessly, and when those arms loosen slightly, I step back with my arms, now loofa free, wrapped around my chest. All I hear is a roaring, ringing in my ears as I work to take stock of my situation, sighing in relief and confusion when I realize Ranger is my unexpected company. He's standing, dripping wet in his cargo pants and t-shirt and looking at me with an emotion I can't quite place since an expression so open seems misplaced on his usually impassive face.

I suddenly feel exhausted as my body seems to recognize before my mind how safe I am with him here, and I take a step to the side and sag onto the shower bench, head down with my hair dripping in front of my eyes. I wrap my arms around my torso tighter as a cool breeze causes goosebumps to prickle across my skin only to disappear just as quickly when a large, plush bath sheet is wrapped around me. I feel Ranger rub a reassuring circle on my back before the hand is gone just as quickly as it surprised me with its comfort.

Before this week, I would have characterized my relationship with Ranger as physical, but not so much physical comfort. This slight touch, meant to give me peace without the slightest hint of sexual innuendo even though I'm naked in his shower, gives me a flood of security.

A shadow crosses my path, and I glance up to see Ranger, now in dry clothes, though how he changed so quickly, I'll never know, crouched in front of me. My eyes slowly scan his face, and it occurs to me he's talking, but I still can't quite make out what he's saying. I use one hand to keep the towel pulled tightly around me and use the other to massage my ear. Ranger's lips set, and he holds out a hand towards me. I look at it and then him in a slow pantomime of acceptance as I allow my overtaxed system to catch up.

He gently leads me to the closet and gives me a clean set of sweatpants, a black t-shirt, sweatshirt, socks, and panties before turning to give me some privacy, but he does not leave the space. I'm again flooded by the sudden sense of security his caring actions show. When dressed, I take a few steps forward and place my fingertips on Ranger's back, who immediately turns around.

"Babe," I hear distantly, and I wrap my arms around his torso, needing nothing more than Ranger's comfort as I find my grounding again. At the edge of my anxiety, where the boundaries of my world blend with memory, reality, and sensation in a haze, the only thing I can focus on is Ranger. I take deep breaths, finding the comfort I need in the strength of his embrace, and when he asks if he can pick me up, I nod yes and rest my head in the crook of his shoulder as he takes us to the bed.

"Querida," Ranger says soothingly, placing a chaste kiss on my head.

"He's dead, isn't he," I state, knowing the answer already. I knew it the moment I took aim. "There was so much blood on me..." I trail off.

"Yes," Ranger says solemnly, "And I'll thank God every day that it wasn't you." Ranger's hand tightens slightly over mine as he takes a steadying breath.

My eyes widen slightly in response, and I sit up straighter. "Even now that I've brought my reign of terror to your work?" I spit out in a tone reminiscent of my mother. "The Bombshell Bounty Hunter strikes again, causing disaster and mayhem everywhere she goes. Wouldn't you be more thankful if you hadn't brought me here to create this mess out of your life? I bet you're regretting asking me to be a partner now. It's a good thing I haven't signed anything yet. How can you be _thankful_ that I killed someone at Rangeman?"

Ranger looks at me thoughtfully for several long seconds as my words hang in the air between us. It's a look of contemplation absent of any condemnation. "Do you know that I like you?" he says, his expression tender. He waits as I consider the question. "I do. I like _you_. You, for being precisely and absolutely you, are someone I am thankful for. I will never regret the day I agreed to help Connie train a new bounty hunter. They only thing I will ever regret is not being a better friend before now. You never should have felt so alone in the world, and I am sorry for my part in that. But I am here now, and I will thank God every day that I have another chance to be a better friend to you."

"You like me?" I say, my words as unsteady as my heart.

"Yes," Ranger says, giving his head a firm nod. "You say disaster and mayhem; I say resourceful and persistent. You say 'reign of terror'; I say determined and passionate. You are the only you, and I will always want you to survive, no matter what."

"But why? I'm broken. I'm trying, but it doesn't seem to matter. I'm a person marked by death," I manage to choke out as tears pool in my eyes.

"You're not broken, Babe. You're human. Being human means you may be feeling angry, sad, or afraid, but that doesn't mean you are broken. It means you are living. And you, living, is a gift," Ranger says thickly. "You did the right thing, and you are not alone in this. You took a life tonight in defense of your own. I'm proud of you, and your goodness is in no way diminished. Be human, Babe. Feel. I am here for you."

"Okay," I respond softly as the pools of tears overflow, and I let out a long, ragged breath before leaning on Ranger and letting his strength join my own. I cry long and quietly as equal parts of grief and relief pour through me. He rubs my back in slow circles, but I feel no hurriedness to just pull myself together and stop crying already. He's here with me, and in that rawest moment of humanity, I feel myself begin to heal. And when the tears dry up, I stay in Ranger's arms.

It occurs to me how little I've been touched in the past year, and certainly not with gentleness or compassion when I have. I isolated myself completely, and now, surrounded by the warmth of Ranger's body, I feel that heat begin to spread through my heart as well.

I killed someone tonight, but for the first time in my life, I don't feel alone. I'm not fine, and I'm not okay, but I am loved.

Wait. I did something that cost someone his life. Whenever things happen, I'm always the target of all manner of vitriol. Why do I feel loved? I was raised on the mantra that sticks and stones can break my bones, but words can never hurt me. Well, bullshit. Words and actions can injure a heart just as much, or more I decide than a bullet or beating. Gossip and lies. My family's rejection. Morelli's sexual and emotional abuse. The night I can't remember but can't forget in college. Dickie fucking Joyce. The bathroom bastard. The harm I inflicted on myself. I've spent my entire life wanting to be loved, sins, and all. I've had a taste of it this week, and it is so sweet and so amazing, and I don't want to lose it. I want more. Even right now, with the blood of another human being freshly scrubbed off my skin, all I want is to not be alone. I want to feel this unconditional love for the rest of my life.

"You love me," I say, blurting the words out in surprise as I sit up, clenching my hands so tightly my nails dig into my palms.

"_Querida_," Ranger says softly, as a large, warm hand gently works to relax my fingers. "I do," Ranger affirms when I focus my gaze on his impenetrably deep brown eyes. As I look into them, my breath catches as my gut clenches, and my heart swells. "I love you," Ranger states with such absolute sincerity that the heat growing inside me pulses an intense flare.

_Home_. That's where I find it. Ranger's eyes, his hands, the soft tone along with the small smiles meant only for me.

"Thank you," I whisper, knowing the words are wholly inadequate but possibly never meaning it more. By the slight upturn of Ranger's lips, I think he gets it.

"Who did I shoot? Do you know why he was there?" I ask, trying to get a handle on everything.

Ranger, with poise and self-control I'll never possess, calmly tells me what they learned about Tank's two hires. When Ranger introduced the settlement, Martin and Jones took it and intended to leave the company. Tank poisoned their minds against Ranger and bribed them to be his hired mercenaries. I felt a clench of fear in my belly when Ranger reports that they attempted to arrest Tank this morning but that he was already gone. Rangeman and TPD fear he was tipped off. Vinnie and Lula will be apprehended at the Bond's office later this morning.

I sigh heavily at the report but say nothing.

"I'm sorry, Babe," Ranger says, and I look up in time to see his shoulders sag slightly. "My building should have been a safe haven for you, and I feel like I failed you and am continuing to fail you every second that Tank is a free man."

I quickly shake my head no several times. "It's not your fault, Ricardo Carlos Manoso, and I don't blame you. You've done so much to help me and to keep me safe. You did _not_ let me down," I state emphatically.

"Okay, Babe," he says eventually, his hand giving mine a squeeze. "I do wonder, though. Where did you get the weapon? I thought we had confiscated all of them."

I quirk my lips in a near smile. "Hector brought over everything from my apartment. I'm better at hiding things than you give me credit for," I state, lifting my chin defiantly. Then my eyes widen as a thought takes hold. "But I didn't have my weapon available because I don't trust you or think you can keep me safe. I swear. I just," I trail off, hoping against hope Ranger gives me the benefit of the doubt.

Ranger sits there quietly, his gaze unwavering.

"Please don't be mad at me," I whisper, tears threatening to fill my eyes.

"No, Babe, I'm not mad at you. I'm a little mad at myself, but I only feel relief, pride, and love towards you," Ranger says, turning slightly so that he can place his other hand on my shoulder.

"What else is bothering you, Babe?" he questions when I don't look up at him.

"I'm scared," I confess, and Ranger freezes. "But I'm not scared of the Tanks, Farros, and Martins of this world, though I'm not thrilled about them either. I'm scared of," and I stop, gathering my courage. Ranger gathers me against his chest and patiently waits for me.

I take several deep breaths, and my senses are assaulted again. _Bulgari. Ranger. Leather. Home._

"I love you," I say quietly, and the hand on my back stills. I lift my chin, and my breath is taken away again by the tender affection and fierce passion I see looking back at me. "I just," I start, taking a second to fill my lungs and collect my thoughts. "I need you to know that. I've only said that little phrase to two other people, and they, well, they weren't the people I wanted them to be. I think I know who you are, and I've never felt this way before. I'm terrified, elated, needy, desperate, and possibly okay, and it doesn't make any sense," I continue, shaking my head slightly as I do. "But Ranger, if hearing me say it now, you don't think you love me the same, please tell me. I'm afraid that you will grow tired of me, that you will find me inadequate when we make love. You are such a perfect specimen of a man, and I'm, well, I'm me. I need to be certain that you mean what you said because you alone have the power to destroy me if you don't," I finish in quiet warning, giving Ranger my greatest vulnerability.

Ranger gently brushes an errant curl behind my ear before cupping my chin with his hands. "_Querida_, my dear," he finally says, his voice deep and his Cuban-American accent overtaking his usual speech. "_Te quiero._ It's ironic, because '_te quiero_' directly translates into 'I want you.' I need you to know that the sentiment we use for love in Spanish is how I feel about you. I want you. I love you. I've felt all those things, and you are the one thing that makes sense in my life. I want to spend every day being a better man than the man you think I am, earning those words again and again. I will always be beside you, and when you need it, I'll be there to help you carry your load. I already know you've been there all along for me, and my life is forever better," he says, carefully choosing his words, and I feel as though he is struggling to translate his Spanish thoughts into English for me.

My eyes flood with happiness as I nuzzle my cheek against his calloused hand. "Then I'll repeat it," I murmur before pulling away and taking Ranger's hands into my own. "I love you," I say clearly, proudly, and with a confident smile. I'm vulnerable but strong and assured.

"_Te quiero_," Ranger replies, giving me a thousand-watt smile that makes my heart glow.

In a flash, I place my hands onto Ranger's face and pull his lips to mine, needing this intimacy more than I ever have before. I press hard against him, and when the tip of my tongue seeks entrance to his mouth, he willingly allows me access. The kiss is unrestrained, unadulterated, filled with passion, and promise. It's a kiss that feels endless, and my heart feels stronger somehow.

"Lay with me?" I ask. Wordlessly, Ranger tucks the blanket around me before laying back on the pillow beside me, his arm snaked under my shoulders. He positions himself so that our bodies are flushed parallel to the other. My head quickly finds the soft spot of his shoulder that seems made for me, and I give a quiet sigh of contentment as I breathe his distinctive scent.

_Home_. I reconsider the events of the night again in the safety of Ranger's embrace, and it occurs to me that once again, I'm homeless. There is no way I'll ever sleep in the apartment on four again.

"I'm having a hard time making a decision I know probably seems obvious to everyone else," I say, my fingernail tracing under the hem of Ranger's cargo pocket.

"Tell me about it," Ranger responds, his tone kind but directive, and rather than be appalled at being told what to do, I feel calmer under the umbrella of his strength.

"Do you know why I refused to move from my old apartment?" I inquire.

"It was yours," Ranger states immediately, and I'm taken aback by his answer. Most people I know would have said _stubborn_, _stupid_, or _foolish_.

"Yes," I sigh, my body melting against his. And then I tell him my complete relationship life story. Once I started, I couldn't stop. I'd never told anyone any of this, and yet with Ranger, it seemed as natural as breathing. I need him to know _me_, all of me. I need him to understand why living with him this time, for what I hope is forever, is such a monumental step for me.

As I speak, the hand that was fidgeting outside of Ranger's pocket found its way inside. I press my fingertips into the hard thigh muscle, almost as though I am trying to convey what my halting words are struggling to do telepathically. "So, this is my problem. I need a place to live, and I want to live with you if you'll have me. But please understand, I really have changed this past year. I need alone time to recharge, and I've grown accustomed to it, but I don't see myself feeling at ease, or even all that safe on four, let alone like the apartment is a home. At the same time, I'm afraid of moving in with you on seven. We are very new as a '_we_,' and while we've danced around a relationship for years, neither one of us is into this baggage-free. Every time I've given up an element of my physical or financial independence, I have been left in a weaker position because of it. I also don't want to rush us. A lot has happened over the past week, even if the buildup was years in the making. It's too much, and if I'm honest, no matter how much I trust you, this step is illogically petrifying. In the words of Kermit the Frog, 'I can't live with you, and I can't live without you,'" I push out. I adjust my body so that I can see Ranger's eyes, often the only clue I have as to what he is thinking.

"Ranger, being here in your arms is the only place I have ever felt home. It's why I steal your t-shirts and shower gel. I'm trying to take that sense of lust and passion, sure, but also safety and belonging with me. The only place I really want to be is home with you. I just don't know how to do that," I say with complete openness. In his eyes, I only see acceptance, and it makes me feel like the effort to explain myself is entirely worth it.

"I love you, Babe, and wherever you are, there I will also be. Thank you for sharing your story with me. I'm so sorry you've been hurt by so many people who should have loved and cherished you for the great person you are," Ranger says, rolling me towards him so that his arms protectively wrap around me. "I respect all of your concerns, and I agree that we need to take things slowly between us to give our relationship a solid foundation. What's mine is yours, but I understand your financial hesitancies. I won't pressure you in any way to use my resources and nor will I take from you. If you would like to draft a relationship prenup, as it were, I'd be happy to have Pete draw one up. The bottom line is that I'm not pressuring you, and I want you to be in a place where you can heal, and we can grow," Ranger says, offering more than I expected.

"Thank you," I say softly, pushing my body somehow closer to his. "A prenup isn't necessary so long as you don't pressure me to take from or use your resources, and I trust you when you say you won't. I need to take this slowly, but I do want there to be an us."

"I couldn't ask for more."

* * *

**A/N: **Thank you, everyone, for your patience and support. We are now in the home stretch, and I'm so excited to share these final chapters with you over the next couple of weeks. While Coronavirus gave me the time at home I needed to finish this story, there is a very serious impact in our global community due to this pandemic. It is my sincerest prayer that all of you and yours are well and continue to be so.

Misty23y is my beta and friend. She has helped encourage me, nudged me, and waited patiently when I was too overwhelmed with life to finish this before now. Thank you for being there.


	28. Chapter 28

**Disclaimer:** Anything recognizable belongs to Janet Evanovich, and the rest is mine. I'm grateful she lets us play.

**Warning:** Dark fic. Adult language, adult content, violence, smut. This is written for mature audiences only.

* * *

**Chapter 28**

**Tank's POV**

I shift back into the shadows as I watch the Rangman and TPD vehicles fly past my vantage point. Those fuckers have a lot of nerve raiding MY home. I just need to get across the street to the garage on an opposite parcel of property that I own under an alias to keep another car. That car is a Jeep Grand Cherokee that no one knows I own. To develop my cover, I've been running counterintelligence by expressing my disdain for Jeeps for years. I'm lucky Morelli tipped me off. I can't believe none of my men at Rangeman were the ones to warn me, and I'm especially glad I escaped them. It would be a kicker to taken in by Ranger, Santos or any of those backstabbing fuckers. Bastards.

I see a break in the headlights and know I have about forty seconds to get across the street. I sprint, quickly falling into the shadows seconds before another car comes racing down the road. Deftly maneuvering my way to the back of the garage, I open the door silently to allow my car to exit. My headlights are off as I ease my way into the alley, which I follow for two blocks before easing my way onto the main road near the exit of a parking lot popular with bar patrons. I quickly join in with the light closing time bar traffic, in a car that blends in with the college type and young yuppies who think they are cool. Shit, that was close.

Driving carefully so as to not draw any attention to myself, I debate what my next move should be. Bitterly, I push aside my original plan of staying in town to get Stephanie. That will have to wait. In the meantime, I'm going to go to Lula's apartment. She owes me. After all, I did get rid of my cats for her. The least she could do is provide me with a bed to get a few hours shut-eye before we head off to Louisiana. I'll come back to Trenton when the heat dies down to exact my revenge of Ranger, or maybe I'll just lure him and his piece of ass to Miami. This is better anyway. I need time to lay an effective trap for Ranger.

I move along the outside of Lula's house and pause to scan the neighborhood for surveillance before creeping forward. It pays to be extra cautious. If I hadn't gotten that tip, I would have been busted for sure. It's hard to know who to trust right now, but Lula is my girl. I think we've got something special between us, and damn it, she fucking owes me. I've given her thousands in gifts, food, drink, and the invaluable prestige of being associated with me, especially for a woman of her past. The only thing I've asked in return is a blow job and backdoor fuck, which I should get for free as her boyfriend anyway.

One of my advantages is that people assume a man as big as me must make a hell of a lot of noise lumbering around. Not me. I'm all muscle and skill, which I demonstrate by noiselessly pulling myself onto the fire escape, under Lula's window. As I'm about to push the glass open, I freeze when I hear the unmistakable sounds of Lula getting fucked. Wait, Tank, you're probably overreacting. She's never had a man bigger than me. She told me I am her best lover. She's probably just using her vibrator, her Harry Horsecock or whatever it's called. I peek into the window, nearly falling off the ladder as I see none other than Vinnie and Joyce Barnyard with her. Fuck! There's not enough bleach in the world to get that image out of my head. I quickly stumble back to the ground, furious as that whore's betrayal. Puta!

I should have known better than to trust a whore. I saw my sad excuse of a mother whore herself out a couple of times, for a hit. As a matter of fact, the hit that did her in was from one of her Johns. She never knew that I saw. It's one of the reasons why I never employed the service of a whore, no matter how much I needed to fuck. As much as it was annoying, being Carlos' wingman always meant that I'd get some pussy when we went out, though the pretty boy would always get the primo pussy. Him with his Cuban accent, perfect teeth, and good looks. No woman ever looked at me until Lula. But now I know that she's a gold-digging whore like Stephanie.

"Bitch," I spit before turning and disappearing into the shadows. This is all Stephanie's fault. She took my best friend, my job, and now my girlfriend. If fucking Farro had done the job I hired him to do, I wouldn't be in this mess right now. Just shows there are some things you have to do yourself, and that's the one loose end I'll make sure to tie up before disappearing for good.

But now, where do I go? Of course, any Rangeman associated safehouses are out, as I'm sure Ranger already has them on lockdown. My cabin in Nova Scotia is too far. Suddenly, it hits me. I'm sure Ranger has Roger and Jones in custody, and even if he doesn't, I'll have no problems getting those two to hide me. I know they shared an apartment in a building outside of Trenton. However, just to be sure, before breaking in, I'll stake it out. The police will investigate the place, but they'll be gone quickly. I drive to the location, looking for a hiding spot as the sun is starting to rise. Getting close, I see that TPD is wrapping up their investigation and already carrying the electronics out of the building. In about twenty minutes, they should be done. I eye a large commuter parking lot about a half a block away from where I know I can hide in plain sight. Parking, I sit in my car, pretending to look at the paper while I wait for my train. Instead, I monitor when it's safe to walk to their apartment.

I spy a small convenience store that sees steady traffic. My trunk is well stocked for any manner of emergency, deception, action. I grab my briefcase and put on a parka. On second thought, I also grab my duffle for good measure. It's still early, and I want to blend with the men who probably heading to the gym near their office before work. If I'm as forgettable as possible, no one will realize I'm not taking the train. I blend in with the crowd and make of point of checking the train schedule before moving away towards their apartment. The coast is clear, and I slowly walk up the stairs. I quickly pick my way into the apartment, preserving the crime scene tape. Yeah, this will do until I can grab Steph and get out of here. I can't wait to make that cat screech under me as I fuck her from behind. Then I'll find out why Ranger lets her lead him by his cock.

I quickly shower, changing into civilian clothes where I can better blend in. Who the fuck am I kidding? I'm a six-and-a-half-foot tall bald black man who weighs almost three hundred pounds of pure muscle. I don't blend in. There's a reason I'm called Tank. I sit on one of the beds, determined to get some a few hours down before I begin my course of action. I pull out my eye mask, set my alarm for two hours, and fall into a much-deserved slumber.

_**One Week Later, Monday**_

**Stephanie's POV**

"No, Bomber!" Lester exclaims, slamming his hand down on the conference room table. I flinch despite myself, and I can feel the warning look Ranger shoots him.

"_Estefania_, don't do this," Hector says tensely.

"It's been six days. Six!" I retort. "Six days of around the clock patrols and amped-up security for not just my family but all high-value Rangeman assets. This pace is unsustainable, and everyone here knows it. Rangeman will go bankrupt from the mere threat of Tank if this continues."

A heavy silence weighs between the Core Team seated around the table.

"I don't have some crazy death wish. This is the only way to end this now before someone else gets hurt," I say calmly, appealing to reason.

"But it makes you a target and increases the likelihood that you'll be hurt. Your health has improved a lot, but you still aren't full strength," Bobby responds just as levelly.

"That's true, but I feel better than I have in at least a year. Good food, sleep, and breathing fresh air really does a lot for a girl," I say with a slight smile, but Ranger's lips form a somehow tighter line.

I study the inscrutable faces of the four men seated around me before sighing, squaring my shoulders, and sitting up a little straighter.

"The longer Tank is out there, the harder it will be to bring him down. This needs to end," I say firmly, sliding my blank face into place even though there is a small flip in my stomach.

_**Tuesday**_

After the shooting in my apartment on four, the guys brought all my property up to seven, and Ranger, true to his word, let me transform his office/guest room into my haven. Though I still seem to end up in his bed at some point every night, having my own space has given me the mental space I need to mull things over. And I've made a few decisions this week, beginning with the decision to end this standoff with Tank today.

I know Ranger would bleed himself penniless, destroy his business, and even sacrifice himself if it means saving me from Tank. That's also true for Hector, Lester, and Bobby. Those four have depleted themselves this week in an attempt to lure the bastard out. But we all know it isn't going to work because Tank doesn't want them.

He wants me.

I finish my last letter, seal the envelope, and place the stack on Ranger's desk before pulling my leather jacket over my shoulders. These letters are a turning point for me. I haven't cared if I lived or died, damn the consequences, but now I have a fresh, tender appreciation of my life. It's bittersweet that at the moment I want a future, I'm saying goodbye. Tank will stop at nothing to kill me, and there is a very good chance I don't come home today. I take a deep breath and quickly let the air out again, determined to do the right thing, especially if it means I can save Ranger.

I glance at myself in the mirror, transformation complete, and give a slight nod at the fierce woman I see reflected. I take the elevator down to the garage, step into my CR-V, and drive out of the Rangeman, headed towards Pino's.

I saunter in alone and take a seat near the exit in a full line of sight of everyone. I narrow my eyes and cross my arms over my chest when Ranger walks in. "Stephanie," he says in a commanding voice. "Come back to Rangeman."

I lean back in my chair, shooting Ranger my frostiest look.

"Hey there, Steph," Linda says, coming over to take my order. "What'll…" she trails off, glancing between Ranger and me. "I'll come back and check on you in a minute," Linda mutters before scurrying away.

"No," I say with determined finality. "I will not be told what to do by anyone, and that includes where I sleep, what I drive, how I dress, and what job I choose to keep. I am my own person. Leave. Me. Be."

At my statement, a near hush descends. I know, without a doubt, that this conversation is being recorded. Great.

"Don't expect my goodwill to last forever. You're playing with fire, Babe." Ranger says, leaning slightly into my personal space. It takes all my self-control not to waver under his penetrating gaze. Then, Ranger straightens up, seems to realize just how much attention our encounter has gained, and turns on his heel, leaving me behind. I wait until the Turbo 911 turns at the end of the block before throwing a couple of bucks on the table for my soda and drive in the opposite direction.

My next stop is the Bonds Office.

"Hiya, Steph," Connie says. "I wondered when you'd be back. Vinnie was just talking about giving Joyce a call. Thank God you're saving us from that fate!" she enthuses, rolling her eyes while pointing at my stack of files with a red lacquered finger.

I finger towards Rangeman's stack first, pulling out a couple and adding it to my pile.

"What do ya got there?" Lula croons, waddling up beside me in a neon green go-go mini skirt and matching boots. "Need a ride? We ain't been out together in so long. I miss you, Stephy. What do you say? I'm packing. Let's go get us some skips."

I take a step back and give Lula the slow once over, my lips curling down in disgust. "No," I state before turning and walking away.

"Harumph," I hear as the door closes with a ringing of the bell that hangs off the top hinge.

Then I drive. Slowly, patrolling, sticking to the main roads, occasionally stopping at the 711, the Tasty Pastry, and Cluck in a Bucket, until I'm confident I've been seen.

I pull into the garage at my old apartment, lock up my car, and secure the door to my basement residence.

God, it really does smell in here. I cough before standing up straighter and aim my weapon at the door.

"Hello, Tank," I say sardonically when the door opens and a thin stream of light filters around the hulking shape. "Looking for me?"

**Lula's POV**

"Can you believe that bitch?!" I spit out before flopping back onto the couch. "That 'ho had forgotten herself and when she came from. I'd say she's putting the mister before the sister, but rumor has it not even Ranger wants to handle her skinny ass. They already had a falling out at Pino's. Ain't no one want to put up with that bitch. I'm the last friend she got, and she just wants to forget all that history we have together. Some nerve."

Connie looks at me, raises an eyebrow, looks at the stack of filing, and looks back at me expectantly.

"You have got to be kidding me! I can't work at a time like this! This here is an unlawful working condition. There's too much stress and harassment. We supposed to be a team, and now everyone's storming around, shooting, and killing. I don't know how you can even think about filing after being exposed to the negative energy that is Rambette." I say woefully.

"You never do the filing anyway," Vinnie shouts out from his office. "Why should this be any different?"

"Go fuck a duck!" I shout back. "In fact, you can go fuck a whole feathered flock…" I trail off as a TPD cop car pull up in front of the office, lights on but sirens off. "What the hell?"

"Eddie," Connie says, standing and moving in front of Vinnie's open door. "How can we help you?"

"Connie," Eddie says, nodding his head in acknowledgment as the two TPD officers enter Vinnie's office. I watch, stunned, as the little weasel attempts to run out the backdoor only to shake like he's fucked a live lightbulb socket before pissing himself and collapsing to the floor. I should have had my phone out. Shit like that is YouTube gold. Eddie snorts as he leans over to remove the taser leads from the back of Vinnie's neck.

A drop of sweat trails down my forehead. Fucking cops. I hate the police, and I can feel my heart rate picking up. Big Dog is laughing as Vinnie is hauled to his feet, cuffs in place, drooling, and I take that opportunity to slide out the door and hop into the Firebird. I might be a big, beautiful woman dressed to impress, but I know how to be stealthy when required.

Whew, all this stress is making me hungry. Ya know, I think it's time for a change of scenery. Between losing Tank, _damn, I'm going to miss that man and his money_, and Steph, _damn, I'm going to miss the money I made with her or off of her_, I think it's time I pulled my cash out of my mattress and head down to Florida. I've got a half-sister I can shack up for a few days while I find a new gig.

I push on the accelerator, swerving around grandma peering over the steering people. Some people just don't know when to turn in their driver's license. I'm catching the tail end of a yellow when I see sirens behind me. I snort. It seems they agree that grandma is a road hazard. Good. It's about time the cops did something useful.

I reach over to pull a chicken leg out of a bucket I left on my passenger seat this morning and look up again. Fuck, those sirens are getting closer. I can feel my hands begin to shake. I really do need to get out of Jersey. This shit is stressing me out.

I pull my eyes from the rearview to the road just in time see a truck pull off the side of the road in front of me. Bastards! I slam on the brakes and attempt to turn the wheel, only my fingers are too slippery from the chicken and sweat, and it slips between my fingers. The tires squeal as I slam into the back of the NJDOT road crew truck in front of me, and I slide to a halt with a sickening crash followed by a thud.

My airbag explodes, and I scream, while my chicken bone goes flying into the air with my electric green bobbed wig as a bloated carcass crashes through the windshield beside me. I reach for the knife I keep in the center dash, switch it open, and slash the airbag. My eyes widen in horror at the carnage surrounding me. It's like a fucking Disney picture horror show. Oh, my God! It's fucking Bambi in my passenger seat! I will never get that stench out of the leather. Is that raccoon on the windshield? What the fuck is going on here?!

"Out of the vehicle!" I hear someone shouting outside my door, and I look out the window to see four officers with their guns pointed at me. "Drop your weapon! Hands up!"

Why the fuck are the police arresting me? This roadkill truck hit me by cutting people off with its irresponsible driving. My car, my baby, she's ruined! This is discrimination. I could have been killed by that truck, and I'm the one getting arrested?! They can't do this. Un-fucking believable.

**Tank's POV**

Ranger thinks he's got me by the balls, taking away Rangeman and freezing my cash, but he's always been a dumb motherfucker. My ability to make sure number one is always taken care of is why I was born to lead. Stick with me, and you'll be okay.

I finish my e-mail to an overseas colleague, smiling as a text comes in. Perfect. Tomorrow I'll be on my way to slip over the border into Mexico, only to meet up with contacts I have in the cartel. I always have a backup plan, cash squirreled away, IDs, and a way out. Me - I'll be just fine. But I'll be even better if I take care of Stephanie Plum first.

I knew Ranger would get tired of her shit. He came home all dewy-eyed for the wounded little girl but I just knew that it wouldn't last long. No one can put up with a bitch like that for long. There's no way she is that good of a fuck, especially after getting around town like she has.

I get another text letting me know of a Little Girl sighting, and I hop into my Jeep and cruise over to the 711, parking in the back to begin surveillance. Habits are the killer tell of most people, and I'm betting big that Stephanie makes a pit stop. It takes an hour, but my patience is soon rewarded with a stealthily placed tracker before I slip off into the shadows again.

I pull into a parking garage and wait. Part of me just wants to execute her and get out of town once and for all. There is a danger to me sticking around. But the greater part of me wants to make that curly-haired demon suffer the way she's caused me suffering.

Throughout the special forces, I've developed a well-earned description of being _creative_ in the ways I make my captors talk. The very best techniques, such as waterboarding, sleep deprivation, and electroshock, take time to be effective. I found that combining tactics, alternating between terrifying and soothing, accelerates the mental breakdown by keeping my subject off balance. That said, given enough time, I prefer never shedding a drop of blood. Getting into someone's mind and making it mine, now that's my specialty. You'd be amazed at what silence can do to a person. Locked away, small room, nothing. Given enough time, everyone cracks. Or small nuisances. A drop of water, dripping slowly but continuously on someone's forehead leads to a frantic hostage convinced a hollow is forming on their head. I've gotten several good laughs from that one.

Unfortunately, I won't have time for that.

No, the best I will be able to do is make the body a statement. But I wouldn't be opposed to a good fuck first. I mean, everyone else has. I'd like to know if Steph's worth all this bullshit before I kill her.

The tracker movement indicates that Little Girl is moving out of the Burg, and I fire up the engine to slowly make my way towards her. I bet the dumb bitch leads me to where she's been hiding all this time.

I park in a side alley before coming to the property edge. What a hovel. I'll probably catch a disease just by stepping inside. Little Girl must not be as good a bounty hunter as I heard this year. Either that or she owes people money. She should have been giving it to Rangeman anyway, for all the _entertainment_ she's been. Time for me to get my own amusement.

The locks are better than I expect, but frankly, nothing I can't get around.

"Hello, Tank," I hear through the darkness. "Looking for me?"

I pause, letting my eyes acclimate and stifle a cough at the stench emanating from the small space. It's even worse on the inside than the outside. At least it's too small for an ambush.

"I see you, Little Girl," I say, raising my weapon in return. "I might be the only one who does."

Stephanie doesn't waiver, and I take a step forward, effectively placing myself in her kitchen, less than five feet from her.

"It didn't take Ranger long to kick your well-ridden ass to the curb, did it?" I say, shaking my head slightly in mock disappointment. "You are exactly the waste of resources I always knew you were. You were in Rangeman what, four days, before killing one of his men. You've become quite the bloodthirsty little cunt, haven't you?"

I see Bomber's hands begin to shake a little. Bingo. I was always good at pushing on a person's weak spots. She's such a hot mess, it's almost disappointing how quickly I'll be able to break the bitch. Almost. I take another step forward.

"You know I'm going to kill you. I know you do. And you know it's your fault. I gave you one thing to do. Leave. That's it. Leave us all the fuck alone and find someone else's life to destroy. But no. You just had to taste that coveted Manoso dick one more time. Shame. But you know what, for all the _entertainment_ you've given me, I'll let you suck my dick. And just when you realize just how good you could have had it, I'll put this pitiful, miserable, worthless life you have to an end," I say, taking another step forward so that I'm less than two feet away. "On your knees, bitch."

And then Little Girl begins to laugh, a deep, throaty, belly laugh that fails to meet her eyes and makes me feel completely off balance.

"No," she says suddenly, all traces of mirth wiped away from her intensely serious expression. "I see you, Tank, for exactly the parasite you are. Even a month ago, I would have believed you. You're good. But you see, I'm wiser now, and I know just how wrong you are."

A rage explodes from my core. No one says no to me! I'm going to teach this bitch a lesson, and I swing my arm back to knock her across the face with my 9mm. But instead of coming forward, I'm trapped! I give a growl of rage as I turn my head and find myself face to face with Ranger.

"Good, I can take both of you down today!" I bellow, shifting to sweep my leg behind Ranger's ankle to knock him off balance. But before I can, someone grabs my other arm and twists it behind my back. What the hell is going on? This space is too small for there to be so many people. Instead, I see Lester, his face dark with fury.

"Suck this, Tank," Little Girl says, her voice thick with malice, and as I meet her stormy blue eyes, my own vision explodes with stars as her knee connects with my balls. In my periphery, I see Bomber slide out to the side before I spit up bile as I'm slammed against the wall and cuffed.

"You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to an attorney. If you cannot afford an attorney, one will be provided for you," I hear to my left as I close my eyes against the blinding sun of the day as I am dragged to the cop car parked in the driveway before the door. Goddamn Stephanie Plum.

_**Monday, Before Steph's Meeting with the Core Team & One Day Before Vinnie's Arrest**_

**Ranger's POV**

"Harry," I say, rising as Harry the Hammer and his two colleagues enter my conference room. "Thank you for coming to Rangeman. I appreciate the inconvenience this is to you, but security is of the utmost importance to me right now."

"These are trying times. I hear one of your men went rouge, Tank. I abhor disloyalty. You're a good man. How can I help you, Ranger?" Harry said, dispensing with the formalities and getting down to business. Harry is seated at the table in front of me, one man sitting on the right and the other standing to guard his rear.

I sit as well, with Stephanie to my right and Lester at the door.

"I have a business proposition for you. I want to purchase the Bond's Office. Clear title and control. I think you'll find my price is generous," I state, sliding a contract across the table. "I've discovered some things about the operation Vinnie is running I find, frankly, unacceptable."

Harry gives me a long look. "Look, we both know Vinnie is a pervert, but that's never been a problem before," Harry says, giving a slight shrug.

"This is about Vinnie selling out his family for cash," I state harshly.

Harry's face hardens. "Do you have proof of this?" he asks sharply.

Steph slides a second folder with a copy of the ledger and transcripts of the audio Connie recorded to Harry. As Harry begins reading, his shoulders sag as though a great weight has settled on them.

"Rangeman wants to diversify its portfolio and go directly into the bonds business. Stephanie is now a member of the Rangeman Core Team and will be leading the bonds and FTA capture branch. You helped give me my start in Trenton, and I don't forget a favor. I'm offering to buy the existing office outright at a profit to you, but I will only make this offer once," I state firmly.

Harry lets out a long sigh. "I've grown tired of my son-in-law, and I'm ready to wash my hands of him. Do you want me to take care of him, Stephanie? I would do it for you."

Steph gives her head a small shake. "No. No more bloodshed. I've filed a complaint through my attorney with TPD, and I'm ready to let the system take care of him."

"The office will be in good hands," Harry says, taking a pen out of his jacket. "You let me know if you need anything, Stephanie. I am in your debt."

Harry passes the contract back to me, and I sign before giving it to Pete to review.

"This is in order," Pete announces a minute later before handing Harry a check.

Harry turns at the door and looks at Stephanie. "I think you're going to need a new office manager," he says with a wink.

_**Tuesday, Evening of Vinnie's, Lula's and Tank's Arrest**_

**Morelli's POV **

For the last week, I've been pulling over those thugs in black with a vengeance. I managed to sweet-talk Amelia in the permit office to "lose" Rangeman's permits for concealed carrying. Therefore, I was able to ticket about ten different thugs. Suddenly, more and more people are starting to see Rangeman for what it is, a group of mercenaries who will do nothing but destroy our fair town. I'm only hoping to get an opportunity to ticket Manoso, but he's been harder to find than a needle in a haystack.

Manoso has, for all intents and purposes, disappeared off the face of the Earth. I know he's still in Trenton. He visited with Chief Feldman last week. I also know he spoke to Vinnie about something or other. Yet, on all of his trips out of Haywood, he's been hiding out in one of the fleet vehicles.

I know that some of my fellow brothers in blue, most notably Gazarra and Constanza, are telling me to leave Rangeman alone. That if I continue to target them, I'll lose my badge. What the fuck do they know? They will both be stuck in uniform for the rest of the measly careers. I mean, they both joined TPD before I did, and they are still in uniform. I don't know how Gazarra can afford to feed his family on a uniform's salary.

I am also trying to get Stephanie back. Not that I really want her, but I don't want Manoso to have her. It would actually be better if I can break her. With everything that Tank has done, it shouldn't take me long to succeed. Tank and I have been working together to ensure that the skips which were most likely to go along with our plan would use Vinnie as their bail bondsman. Between my nudging them to Vinnie, Tank's deal with the weasel, and Lula's double-crossing, Stephanie didn't stand a chance. The only problem was that none of us expected her to go Rambo on us.

Stephanie used to be a good-looking woman. I mean, she was never drop-dead gorgeous or a head-turner, but she did have a sexy air to her. Steph has wonderfully long legs and a nice tight ass that I have spent the last three years trying to tap. She gives the perfect image of a Burg housewife if only she would toe the line. I know that if I were ever to manage to marry Cupcake, all I would need to do is knock her up to tie her to me forever. I have the necessary medication to make sure she gets knocked up; the only thing missing is Stephanie.

I need Stephanie to be my wife to give me the legitimacy I need to advance my career. I've been fucking Terry steadily for the last ten years, and although she is the woman who holds my heart, I can't marry her. The bitch just has to be a mob princess. I've also dabbled with Joyce, a couple of nurses in St. Francis, and any number of other random women. When I go undercover, I use my time to tap as many different asses as I can manage. Cupcake prefers to live in Denial Land, making it easier for me to continue fucking my many mistresses, and I expect that will continue to be the case after we are married. Perfection.

Tank knew that Manoso had one more mission left. He knew that Manoso was planning on giving up his government contract. He managed to manipulate the system that Manoso's last op would be a long, convoluted deal that would keep him away for at least eight months. Once out of the picture, we would be able to begin the destruction of Stephanie Plum.

Our plan started off great. Manoso stopped to see Stephanie before leaving, feeding her some bullshit lines, forcing her back into my bed. So predictable. But Cupcake being the disaster that she is, managed to fuck it up. Farro was a genius inspiration on Tank's part. Now, I've known Stephanie for over thirty years, but even I never could have imagined the way she changed. We started off with a woman who was so sexually repressed that transformed into a slut overnight. Stephanie used to prefer having sex with the lights off, missionary only. Now, she is allowing men to fuck her in bathrooms, in dark corners of seedy bars, and anywhere else she can get her kicks. I've often hovered around, hoping she would get drunk enough one night to allow me to take her ass for the first time, but she suddenly developed a tolerance for alcohol.

Then a couple of days ago, everything started to collapse, and I'm not sure how much time I have left before my brothers are on my porch, looking to lock me up with everyone else. Vinnie was arrested yesterday. He called Harry, hoping that he would bail him out in more ways than one. Nobody was more surprised than me when Harry washed his hands of Vinnie. Apparently, Harry draws his moral line at purposely causing your cousin to get hurt, and in turn, profiting off said cousin. Then, Lulu was arrested. How she managed to make bond, I don't know, but I pity whoever has to go after that fat fuck if she goes FTA. It's only a matter of time before Tank gets taken in. I'm walking on fucking eggshells, wondering if any of them are going to implicate me. I worked too damn hard to lose everything for a mercenary, a pervert, and a 'ho.

I know that screwing with the gun permits was wrong, but I really don't think they can pin anything on me. Also, there is nothing wrong with recommending a bail bondman to perps. I don't really see how any charges can stick, but if they have shit on Tank, I'm in trouble. I keep thinking that now may be a good time to transfer to Boston. I have an offer on the table. Maybe I'll take that offer.

I'm driving home after my shift, continually checking my mirrors for tails. So far, I don't see anything. When I arrive on my block, I drive around twice, making sure no one is hiding in plain sight. Once I determine that I am alone, I park my SUV in the driveway. I head to the door and open it. Bob comes running over to me, happy to see me, and I let him out the backdoor. As he's relieving himself, I fill his bowl with kibble and give him fresh water. I let Bob back in, where he attacks his food. I check my fridge, finding that my mother dropped off a tray of lasagna. I take it out of the fridge and place a huge slice on a plate, before heating it up in the microwave. Once ready, I carry my plate to the table to eat along with a cold tall one.

I just finish my meal when there is a knock on my door. I grab my revolver from behind my back, carefully stalking to the front door. I look out the peephole, recognizing Vito Grizioli. I immediately open the door after stowing my weapon.

"Uncle Vito, what a pleasant surprise. Why don't you come in?"

I lead Vito to the kitchen, where I offer him a glass of wine. He accepts. I grab a second beer for myself, joining him at the table. Bob seems to know that power that Vito wields and makes himself disappear.

"Joseph, I've known you for a long time. I always respected you and thought you were a good cop, a man with a solid line in the sand between right and wrong. I've watched these last few years as you played with the hearts of two women, only to leave them both broken and wanting more. However, your playboy ways have finally come back to bite you in the ass," he says solemnly, and I feel my dinner settle like a rock in my stomach.

"I don't understand, Uncle Vito," I respond, trying to sound as innocent as I can.

"Of course, you don't. You see yourself as being above the law, untouchable, but you're not. You are every bit a mortal man. You cannot hide from your mistakes. You will pay for your indiscretions," Vito says coolly, taking a sip of wine and setting his pistol on the table.

I swallow thickly. "My indiscretions?"

"Yes, Joseph. My niece Theresa came to me this afternoon, crying. She went to her doctor after feeling under the weather for the last few weeks. After explaining her symptoms to the doctor, it was confirmed that she is pregnant. When I asked her who shared her bed, her only response was you, Joseph. Now, you will do what is right by my Theresa. You will marry her tomorrow. I already arranged for a private plane to take you and Theresa to Las Vegas. I will be accompanying you. You will stand before a Justice of the Peace and marry the mother of your child. Then, you will both spend two months in Sicily, under my watchful eye on your honeymoon. When you return to Trenton, you will work for me," he declares, his tone clearly implying _my way or the highway_.

Shit, I almost feel that it will be better to be in jail than married to the mob. There goes transferring to Boston. And what about my mother and grandmother?

"I've already spoken to your mother and grandmother. They are on their way to the airport right now, ready to watch you marry Theresa. While they both would have preferred, as would I have, that you and Theresa married before having a baby, we are glad that you have a child. Neither of you is getting any younger, you know. We are also thrilled that the foolishness between you and that Plum woman is over. She was no good for you, Joseph. Now, go upstairs and pack a bag. You have five minutes." Vito takes another sip of wine and rests his hand next to his pistol, giving me a level look.

I know that this is not what I want, and I also know that right now, there is no getting around marrying Terry. My life is over. My career is over. It's only a matter of time before I'm behind bars, and everyone knows that cops don't fare well in prison. I quickly ascend the stairs, entering my bedroom. I open the closet, pulling out my duffle. I begin to throw clothes haphazardly into my bag when my revolver falls out of my pants. I glance towards the door, which is thankfully closed. I pick up my service weapon, take a deep breath, weighing my options silently in my head.

If I go to Vegas and marry Terry, I'm as good as dead. My life, as I know it, is over, forever. My dreams will never be attainable. If I attempt to run, I'm dead, because Uncle Vito and his goons will kill me or drag me to Vegas to make an honest woman out of Terry, and even then, I'll be living at gunpoint. So, whose gun do I want to die at the end of? Someone else's or my own? I refuse to live at the gunpoint of another man. My only real option is my gun. I say a silent prayer, asking for God and my mother for forgiveness, before raising the revolver to my temple. I press my finger against the trigger, and pull, cursing Stephanie Plum for not marrying me.

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A/N: You are such wonderful, loyal, supportive, incredible readers. You guys went and made me cry. After my months-long hiatus as real life was overwhelming all of my time, you patiently waited and in return gave me my highest single day readership ever. Your comments mean so much to me and make this such a fulfilling hobby. Thank you so much.

This chapter was co-written with misty23y, especially Tank and Morelli's POVs. Thank you, Babe, for lending your talent (and excellent evil machinations) to this story. Writing action scenes is outside of my comfort zone, and this chapter went through several layers of revisions. I would really appreciate your feedback to help me continue to develop my writing skills. Also, I KNOW this wouldn't be as detailed as it is without your previous comments, which definitely got my gears turning. The ending of this story is as much yours as mine. One more chapter and the epilogue to go!


	29. Chapter 29

**Disclaimer:** Anything recognizable belongs to Janet Evanovich, and the rest is mine. I'm grateful she lets us play.

**Warning:** Dark fic. Adult language, adult content, violence, smut. This is written for mature audiences only.

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**Chapter 29**

_**Three Days Later**_

**Stephanie's POV**

"I'm ready," I say, stepping into Ranger's line of sight. I'm dressed in a conservative A-line black dress with tights and boots, my knives stowed in the boots, but I traded my leather jacket for a blazer. Fewer pockets, but I'm not as worried about that as before.

"Beautiful," Ranger says, looking me up and down before wrapping an arm around my waist and pulling me close for a chaste kiss. "Are you sure you're ready?" he asks, placing his hand on my shoulder.

"I'm sure. I need this closure," I state, pushing up on my toes for another kiss before turning and walking together to the elevator. Lester, Bobby, and Hector are waiting in the parking garage.

"We'll follow you to the cemetery," Lester says after giving me a quick hug.

Ranger opens the passenger door to the 911 before guiding us onto the streets to Trenton.

I was shocked to learn Morelli had taken his own life, even more so after I heard Terry was pregnant. If the most salacious rumors are true, Uncle Vito was marching him down to a shotgun wedding. It doesn't matter now, and I hope Terry will be okay. I don't like that Joe had both of us in his bed, but if I'm honest, I know that he loved her most. Joe and I were together trying to be the people the Burg wanted us to be, not our true selves. There's no doubt Terry loved Joe. I pity Terry because being a single mom in the Burg is a tough road to travel.

I didn't want to attend the wake or the funeral. I knew my presence would only be a distraction, and Joe's family deserves better than that. However, even though Joe and I were like fire and ice, and despite how much pain he caused me over the years, a part of me, maybe the little girl who yearned for attention and approval, or the adult who wanted to be accepted and loved, did love him. It took a long time to give up the idea of what a relationship with him could be. I need to say goodbye, and I need to give him my forgiveness.

The last week was a whirlwind. Taking down Tank was hard on the entire Core Team. The guys hated that I was making myself bait, but they couldn't come up with a better plan, and I refused to budge. The hardest part was laying the trap. My old apartment really was too small for anyone to hide, and Tank wouldn't have been fooled for a second. Lester created a hidden trap door into my bathroom from the outside. While Tank was fixated on me, they used that opportunity to sneak in and ambush him. Everyone, including me, though I didn't say so, was worried they wouldn't be able to get into the apartment fast enough. As a backup plan, Hector was hiding in the kitchen island, and I was wearing a concealed bulletproof tank top under my regular clothes.

The tank top cost an obscene amount of money, but it was the only way the plan was going to happen. I knew immediately that Ranger was hesitant about giving it to me, afraid I would push back about taking things from him as I had in the past. But when he placed the tank top on the dining room table and looked at me, hands buried in his pockets and eyes begging me to accept it, I didn't feel any of my old defensiveness. All I saw was someone who loves me, wants me to be successful, and wants me to have the tools I need to be safe. I really began to understand gratitude at that moment, and I am so thankful to be surrounded by these four men who care about _me_.

Oddly, that conversation with Tank was precisely what I needed to kickstart therapy, and I've gone every day this week with indefinite plans to continue. One of the first things we talked about was setting my therapy goals and what successful therapy is to me. Tank's words gave me the perfect clarity I needed to approach that conversation.

When Tank said, "I'll put this pitiful, miserable, worthless life you have to an end," my first thought was _the hell you will!_ On seven afterward, sitting on the couch with Ranger's arms wrapped securely around me, I took stock in just how much I've changed already. I always felt drawn to Ranger. There's just something magnetic that attracts us. Whenever I looked at him, I felt a spark of fire, of hope. I survived these past several months, but I never lost faith in that spark. I always hoped deep down for that someday.

When Ranger rapped on my car window in the park, I felt something come alive in me again. I felt terrified that he would learn who I am and blow that spark out. Instead, Ranger has fanned it into a bonfire. Further, I know what Ranger and I have is more than lust. It's tender and new, but I think our someday is forever.

I want to see myself more clearly, and that means keeping my perspective about my strengths and weaknesses in balance. I want to learn to more fully trust those who deserve my trust. I want to love myself better, taking care of both my heart and body, and I want to learn to forgive myself and let go of the flaws. I've held onto so much pain, and I can see how much fear I've been channeling to make decisions. I can see already, so early in this process, that I can heal. I'm going to have good days, and I'm going to have bad ones, but I will be okay.

Morelli's death also gave me the gravity I need to break down the barriers that prevent me from wanting to be vulnerable. I've watched Joe's loved ones suffer in their overwhelming grief, and I know that at any point in the past few months, I lived my life so recklessly, it could just as easily be me being laid to rest today. Life is valuable, and it's worth living, and I'm not going to be able to fully do that if I don't take a chance at letting people in. I pushed everyone away when I needed them the most, and I nearly killed me. It's going to be hard, I'm going to have setbacks, but more than ever before, I want to live.

The crowd has mostly dispersed when we park on the edge of the cemetery and begin a slow walk towards the grave. It's a gray morning, misting and chilly, almost as though the earth itself was mourning a life lost before his time.

I give Ranger's hand a light squeeze, and he waits next to a tree lining the road as I travel the rest of the distance alone. There's a lone person standing vigil at the grave's edge.

"I'm so sorry for your loss, Mrs. Morelli," I say, coming to a stop beside her and bowing my head. The smell of broken grass and freshly disturbed earth fills the air around us.

"I just can't stop thinking about what I could have done better," Angie says suddenly, surprising me with her candor. "Why didn't I see this coming? Why did he think he had no other option?"

I pause, gathering my thoughts as my throat constricts at the quiet anguish in her voice. "I did love, Joe. But I also needed to learn how to love myself. I consider myself fortunate that I found a new path, one where I can do that, but I will never judge Joe. This last year has taught me how much grief, shame, fear, anger, sadness, and desperation can cloud a person's judgment and make them think that death is the only way out. I can't answer your questions, but I came here today to tell Joe that I hope he found the peace he was looking for."

I take a deep breath, bend down, and place a single rose on the casket. "For the pain I caused you, I'm sorry. For the pain you caused me, I forgive you. I love you, Joe. I pray God judges you mercifully and that I will see you again in heaven. I pray for peace in the hearts of your family and friends. Amen," I say, crossing myself and rising.

I turn and take Angie's hands in mine. "I established a trust in Joe's name at TPD. Its purpose is to ensure better mental healthcare screenings and care for all members of the force. My hope is that Joe's death can be used to prevent someone else from the same fate. I also hope this gives you some small measure of comfort. I really am so sorry for your loss," I tell the grief-stricken woman before me, and as tears stream down her face, she wraps me in a fierce embrace.

"Thank you, Stephanie. I always knew your heart was too big for the Burg," she says tearfully, and I lose control of my tears, finding unexpected comfort and peace for my grief in her arms.

Joe hurt me. There is no question that he caused me inexcusable harm. But nonetheless, I gave him a part of my heart, and there were times when we were just us, that there was real affection there. Unfortunately, our relationship ended with betrayal and animosity. In some ways, it was inevitable; we always did seem to be the star performers on the Burg's gossip stage. Yet I will always regret that we were never able to get to the point of forgiveness.

I understand Angie's questions, and I know the call of that seductive voice that says _this can all be over_. Living is hard work, but it's work that's worth doing. I'm eternally blessed to have Hector in my life. He kept telling me again and again that my life has value. That I'm worth it. To live. He saved me from my darkest nights when that voice was loudest, and I'm so grateful to him.

We remain that way for a long minute, and I don't know who is supporting who. When we separate, the clouds break, and light diffuses on the dewy ground around us.

"Goodbye, Mrs. Morelli," I say, wiping the tears from my cheeks. "Goodbye, Joe," I whisper, placing my hand over my heart.

As I step forward slowly, drying my eyes with a tissue, I feel the closure that part of my past needs.

Ranger, Hector, Lester, and Bobby are standing in a solemn row, and as I step into Ranger's embrace, they each place a comforting hand on my back. I don't cry, but I feel the strength of these men ebb into me, building me up with their love.

I slip out of Ranger's arms and wrap my own fiercely around Hector. "_Gracias, mi hermano_. Thank you for making me give you that promise. I owe you my life," I whisper into his ear, tears pricking my eyes again. (Thank you, my brother.)

Hector's arms tighten around me, and I feel a single drop on my neck. "_Siempre_, always, just as you have for me, _Angelita. Te amo_," he whispers back, and I have to strain to hear the words through the constriction of his voice. (I love you.)

"Thank you, Lester," I say, my eyes shining with unshed emotion, as I turn to him. "You've done so much to help me, expecting nothing in return, and often with me fighting against you. Thank you for loving me through my worst and for never giving up on me."

Lester hugs me so fiercely my feet no longer touch the ground. "I'll take that famed knee of yours any day, Beautiful. You're worth it." Lester sets me down, and as I'm smoothing down my jacket continues, "And if that cousin of mine ever fucks it up…" eyebrows in full waggle. I let out a bark of laughter as Ranger slaps him across the back of the head before Lester assumes the expression of a wounded puppy.

Bobby smiles warmly at me, and we share a short embrace. "Thank you, Bobby, for giving me the resources I need to heal. I'm grateful to have your friendship and support."

"You don't need to thank me, Bomber. I should have been a better friend from the beginning, but I'm going to do everything I can to help you move forward. You can count on me," Bobby says assuredly, and I give him a wide smile in return.

"I know I can."

"Ready, Babe?" Ranger asks, sliding an arm around my shoulders.

"Yes," I say simply, taking a deep, cleansing breath as I slip my hand into Ranger's and walk into my future, heart wide open.

In the 911, Bach quietly streams from the speakers, and I let my thoughts float on the peaceful melodies. It isn't long before my phone rings and glancing at the screen, I see it's my mother.

"Hello, mom," I answer, and I grin at the silence that follows. I haven't answered a call from my mother since Farro.

"Stephanie," she manages, then "Stephanie," her voice recovering quickly from the surprise. "How are you?" I'm struck at how authentic the question sounds.

"I'm good," I say. "Really."

"I heard what you did for Angie," my mom says, "and, well, that's really good of you. Thank you, Stephanie."

Now it's my turn to be speechless.

"Will you come to dinner? Pot roast and pineapple upside-down cake. Bring anyone you like, or not," my mom jumps in, saving me from figuring out what to say. Glancing out the window, I realize we aren't headed towards Rangeman.

"Sunday?" I ask, and I hear my mom let out a rush of air.

"Sunday is great."

"Okay, I need to go. See you Sunday. Bye, mom," I respond, but I don't feel any of the eye-twitch inducing stress conversations with my mom usually cause. But then, she's worked to respect my boundaries more over the last year. We will never have a "normal" mother-daughter relationship, but there's hope yet.

"Bye, Stephanie," mom says, and I press my lips together in a satisfied smile as I tuck my phone back into my pocket.

I place my arm on the center dash and rest my hand against Ranger's bicep, relishing in the ease his touch gives me.

"Where are we going, Ranger?" I ask with a tone of reserved curiosity, feeling somewhat subdued from the emotional day. He sets a hand on my thigh and gives it a small squeeze.

"Carlos," he says.

"What?" I interrupt, turning my head toward him with my brow furrowed.

The corner of Ranger's mouth quirks upward. "Carlos. My full name is Ricardo Carlos Manoso. When we aren't at work, please call me Carlos."

My mouth drops open in shock, and with real physical prowess, I manage to close it enough to say, "Where are we going, _Carlos_?"

"The Batcave," Ranger says in a deadpan voice, and this time it takes several seconds for me to pick my jaw up again.

"The Batcave," I nearly shout in shock. "It's real?"

This time Ranger breaks into a thousand-watt smile, and my expression morphs into one of stunned astonishment.

"We own a home on a quiet part of the beach south of Point Pleasant, near Herring Island," he says.

"We own a beach house," I parrot dumbly. "Wait, I don't own a beach house!"

Ranger just blinds me again with a flash of perfectly white teeth as he turns onto Ocean Ave, slowing down a mile later outside a secluded home, at least as secluded as a home on the Jersey shore can be, and punching in a code for the gate before proceeding into the garage. The house is stunning, a three-story new construction Cape Cod style beach home with wooden shakers and white trim that walks right out to the coast.

"Ranger, I mean Carlos, I mean, what do you mean, WE own this?" I stutter, scrambling out of the Porsche.

Ranger reaches into his pocket and hands me a key while telling me a six-digit code.

I stand statue-still, my flat palm held out in front of me with the key resting on top. "That's the day you met me in the diner," I whisper.

"I've loved you since the first day I met you, Babe. I denied what my heart knew for far too long, but I deep down always hoped for a someday with you. I began construction on this house shortly after the first time I followed you to the beach. You'd had a terrible day, and I felt this pull to make sure you were okay. I watched you a long time before showing myself, mesmerized by how free and beautiful you looked," he says, weaving his fingers through my hair and tilting my chin upward. "I titled this house in both of our names. My life is dangerous, especially before I resigned from my government contract position, and with the missions I was doing, I knew there was a real chance I might never come home. I wanted you to have this place in case anything happened to me, but now, I want to build a future with you here."

"Carlos," I breath, awed, before capturing his lips on mine. The kiss is tender, needy, and I feel his love for me poured into it, but there is also no pressure for anything more. It's a kiss of pure love.

We walk through the house, each room more lovely than the next, light and airy with accents of blue and green before stepping out onto the central patio. There's a tiled pool with raised hot tub to my right and several plush lounging chairs with an uninterrupted view of the beach to my left.

I lean against the rail and close my eyes as the late afternoon sun presses onto my face. It's so quiet, and I feel the peace of this place seep into my very pores.

"Beautiful," Ranger says again, and through my periphery vision, I see he only has eyes for me.

"Thank you," I say, turning, so my body faces his.

"No price, Babe," Ranger replies warmly, placing his hand over the one I have resting on the rail.

"I feel guilty, you know. Tank, Vinnie, and Lula are in jail, Joe was buried today, Farro and Martin," I pause, letting out a long stream of air. "There's a part of me that feels too, undeserving, I guess, to feel happy today, especially today, here, with you. Like I've done too much bad and caused too much pain to have any in my life. But I also know that isn't true, and I have you to thank for leading me down that path of self-discovery. Those people made their choices, just like I made mine. I can't take on the responsibility for their bad decisions, and I need to forgive myself for mine. I don't honor the dead by ceasing to live myself. I'm truly sorry so many lives have been upturned this past year, but I am incredibly grateful that I feel like I'm being given a second chance at life." I look up at Ranger's soft expression, heartened by the small smile I see there.

"I'm proud of you, Babe," he says, and my heart soars. "You are exquisite, inside and out. Your determination, compassion, and spirit are lifechanging for those who accept you into their lives. You are a warrior, a survivor, and my best friend."

"I'm not a warrior, Ranger," I say, frowning a little. "You, Lester, and Bobby. You guys are the warriors. You've served your country on the battlefield. I'm a bumbling bounty hunter from New Jersey."

Ranger gives my hand a squeeze. "Do you know what a warrior is, Babe?" he asks, giving a slight pause. "There are only two kinds of people once the bullets start to fly: warriors and victims, those who fight and those who are unprepared, unable, or unwilling to defend themselves."* Ranger reaches and takes my other hand in his. "Babe, _you_ are a warrior. You never gave up, never stopped fighting for yourself and those you care about. You are not just a survivor, you are a warrior, and I am so proud of you. You did not have the support and people you needed in response to what you went through. Yet, with the deck stacked against you, you kept fighting the best way you knew how. Thank you for never giving up and for fighting to move forward with your life now. You should never feel guilty about living. I love you, Babe."

I press my lips together as I sort through the swell of emotions. Me? A warrior?

"Thank you, Carlos. I love you, too," I say, leaning up for a kiss. "I'm going to go for a swim. I think I need to clear my head."

Ranger gives my forehead a kiss, and I go back to the master bedroom, where I had previously noticed that Ella, I assume, had fully stocked the closet for us, and open several drawers before finding a black bikini and cover-up. I slip out along the side of the house and enjoy the feel of the sand between my toes as I step towards the water. I slip the coverup off my shoulders a safe distance from the waves and anchor it in place with the sandals I'm carrying.

I reach my hands over my head and stretch widely, flexing my shoulders before jogging into the surf and diving through a wave. I give a squeal of delight as I surface, immediately enlivened by the coolness of the water. I begin the swim out and then parallel to the surf, moving my still not quite at full-strength body at a leisurely pace. With each stroke, I imagine that I am shedding some of the weight that has held me down this past year. I have my demons. I have my ghosts. But a warrior? I never loved or held myself in many regards at all these past few months, but I was never unwilling, unable, or unprepared to defend myself. Unconventional, especially before I started to get better training, yes, but I always fought.

And I'm going to continue that battle now. I will be the warrior I need myself to be. I'm going to fight for my life like I never have. Fight for my relationship with Ranger, fight as a Core Team member, fight to define my place in my family and community, and, most importantly, fight to love myself with my whole heart. I can't do anything about the bullets people aim at me. I can do something about what I do in response. I may be wounded, and even forever changed, but I won't stay down.

I head to shore and stop to feel the edge of the wave rush between my toes, sinking my feet into the silt. I feel lighter. I blink, push my hair out of my eyes, squinting into the late afternoon sun marked by a dark silhouette. Ranger shakes out my coverup and holds it out for me to slide my arms into. But when it's halfway up, he pauses and begins to lightly trace the edges of my winged tattoo with his finger.

"Do you remember, when you first saw this, what I said?" I ask, feeling my confidence soar with his touch. His fingers stop their movement. "I said I wasn't sure what this meant to me. I know now."

I turn, place my hand on Ranger's hips, and gaze assuredly at his curious expression. "I want to be Hector's _Angelita_, your warrior, and my best self. I want the death that has followed me this past year to have meaning with life. I am imperfect, but I am good, and I want to fly."

Ranger's eyes become impossibly dark with affection and desire. "_Me haces volar, y tú eres mi luz. Querida, te quiero._" Ranger's voice is thick and husky, and he leans down to kiss me. It's fervent and passionate, hotter than the Jersey sun. (You make me fly, and you are my light.)

I pull apart first, take his hand, and begin to lead us with urgency to the house. We are barely through the door when I push Ranger against the wall with my body pressed firmly to his, our tongues clashing with a desperate desire to be closer.

As I'm on the cusp of losing all reason, the small voice of doubt in my brain whispers, and I pull back suddenly. I look away for a second as I take a quivering breath.

"Are you sure?" I blurt out, knowing my courage will only sustain itself in a big burst of bravery. "I've changed. I know you know my reputation," I trail off, running my hands over my face and through my hair. "I'm not going to apologize to you for not being the Virgin Mary, and I don't want the kind of encounters I've had these past few years with you. I want more. God, I want so much more that it scares me. I want to give you my heart. I want to touch and be touched. I want real intimacy, something I've never had with anyone. It's a lot, I know that, to lay on you after a kiss on the beach. I can slow down if you need it, but I'm ready. I'm ready to be all in with you, but only if you are sure."

I turn back, my arms awkwardly hanging by my side, and I implore directly into Ranger's chocolate eyes. "Are you?"

I observe my Carlos with my every nerve ending firing with anticipation as he takes a slow, seductive step towards me before scooping me up into his arms with a quiet strength that's practically sinful. I place my hands around his neck, and with his lips millimeters from mine, I think my heart can't decide if it wants to stop or explode.

"_Si, querida_." Ranger's Cuban-American accent is so thick, I think I'm teetering on the edge of orgasm from his voice alone. "I will never be as sure about anything as I am about you."

With that, he kisses me with the fire of a lover, the tenderness of a soulmate, and an eternal passion. I'm unaware of the journey, but I acutely feel the loss of Ranger's body next to mine when he gently lays me on the bed.

I whimper, my hand reaching towards him, and his lips quirk in that small smile of his.

"Patience, Babe," he says, pulling his shirt over his head. As he slips his pants down his hips, I lick my lips at the sight of Ranger's sex, impressive and attentive, and moan.

Ranger, undeterred by my impatience, kneels between my legs and runs both sets of fingers lightly up my legs, my sides and my breasts before resting his hands on either side of my head on the mattress. As his hands made their ascent, his body followed, sliding slowly over mine until the head of his penis is grinding with slightly increasing pressure against the apex of my folds. I'm quivering with need, my breath coming in short gasps.

"Please, now," I say, peppering his face with kisses, and I lose myself entirely as he pushes slowly inside me, the completeness of our two bodies pushing me fully over the edge. I wrap my legs and arms around Ranger's hard body, and my back arches as I let out a scream of primal satisfaction.

In the spotty haze of my semi-consciousness, Ranger grunts, and I feel his release inside me as he presses his lips against mine. This time the kiss is soft and affectionate.

"I love you," I say, and the words come so easily, it is astonishing. "I love you."

"_Te quiero, querida_."

We rest in each other's arms, neither one of us able to move for a few minutes, and I lock this moment of sheer perfection away in my heart.

"I'm going to spend the rest of today worshiping you, Babe," Ranger says into my ear, and my eyes fly open to meet the intensity of his gaze. "I'm going to show you again and again just how sure I am."

Oh boy!

* * *

**A/N:**

* Quote from _On Combat: The Psychology and Physiology of Deadly Conflict in War and in Peace_ by Lt. Col. Dave Grossman. This is the quote that inspired me to write this story. We have warriors that surround us, many who are military vets, but there are many other members of our communities who carry that same burden. Stephanie Plum is a character who inspires me like an unspoken warrior, and I think her fighting spirit is in many of us. We all need our people, those who form our support to get through the good and the bad. I hope this story imparted some of the brilliant strength of Steph's warrior spirit to you.

If you want to see the beach home inspiration, go to Zillow and search 1127 Ocean Ave, Mantoloking, NJ 08738. My home is a little further south with better, has all an all-encompassing security wall and gate, and the pool faces the ocean instead of the street.

Thank you again to misty23y for your heartfelt work as my beta.

I probably won't finish the epilogue until this weekend, but our characters have a few more things to say. And to think I thought this was going to be a short story! Haha! I look forward to giving you the last installation soon. You are the best readers. Thank you for your comments, page views, enthusiasm, and support.


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